The Scent of Lightning
by Riventhorn
Summary: Harry thought Slytherin’s vision of hatred had died with Voldemort. But what if Slytherin found a way to come back? Would Harry be able to stop him before the magical world was engulfed in terror and chaos again? HxDslash.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes: **This story takes place after the events of two previous stories, **Faith **and **Two Solitudes** which set up Harry and Draco's relationship. I want to say thank you to my beta** carnilia **for all her help and encouragement.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

**Prologue**

The fox slunk through the grasses, intent on the rabbit he was hunting. Moonlight illuminated the slopes of the hill, and the fox clung to the small shadows cast by rocks and depressions in the ground. Pausing, he sniffed the air, and his hackles rose. There was something on the wind tonight – like the smell that lingered after a lightning strike. Except there was no lightning, no rain clouds.

Trembling, the fox hurried on his way. Of course, the hill often gave off an odd feeling – a sense that something ancient was lurking in the ground, watching and listening. The fox cast a glance over his shoulder. He was near the flat top of the hill now – the rabbit's scent led straight across the wide open area. The fox hesitated, and then decided to forget the rabbit. He had no desire to venture out where there was no cover. Not on a night like this. He was about to turn away when the man stepped out of the sky.

The fox froze and crouched as low as he could to the ground. The man was naked and carried no weapon the fox could see, but the fox was taking no chances. The air behind the man was – shimmering. No, perhaps that wasn't quite the right word. It looked like the windows of the humans' dwellings which the fox had seen on his occasional jaunt to the village to try and pick up a chicken or two. The fox could see through this window in the air, could see the hills and forests rising in the distance, but they were…wrong in some way. Twisted. The man turned to look through the sky-window, and the fox realised there was a shadowy form on the other side. It looked like the man's shadow, only no longer lying flat on the ground like it should. The man reached out to the shadow, but at that moment the sky-window disappeared. The man gave a low laugh and let his hand fall.

The fox wanted no more to do with this. He turned and crept a few steps into the darkness, then began running. He didn't stop until the man had faded into the night and the hill was but a shadow in the distance.

On the top of Dragon Hill, the man took a deep breath of the night air. The wind ruffled his hair, but he felt no corresponding chill. Not that he should – after all, he wasn't strictly _alive_, was he? Still, this was one step closer. Looking down, he saw the lights of a town at the foot of the hill. There would be clothes down there and whatever passed for money in this day and age. It might require stealing, perhaps murder, to obtain such things. The thought did not trouble him. They were only Muggles, after all.

The man began walking down the hill. He could feel the power pulsing through the soil and air, but couldn't touch it. Not yet. Looking up, he examined the stars' place in the heavens. Yes, he would have plenty of time. Plenty of time to put his plans in order. And then, he would return.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"_The Cannons lead, 90 to 30, as Wood pulls off a spectacular save against Falcon chaser Hetley. Another sold-out crowd fills the stadium here today. Not long ago it seems, only a few diehards showed up at Cannons' matches, but that was before Oliver Wood took over the captaincy. Back then, the Cannons were last in the league. Now, they're tied for first with the Montrose Magpies. Wood has really turned this team around, and of course quite a bit of the credit goes to their Seeker, Harry Potter._

_He was the youngest Seeker ever at Hogwarts and now he's the hottest player in the League. Many are calling him another Krum, and all I can say is that I can't wait to see Potter on the international circuit._

_Chaser McDowell scores another for the Cannons, and it's 100-30. A great roar from the crowd – the Snitch has been spotted! Potter is after it. Harrison on his tail. Narrowly evades a Bludger – Potter almost lost it there. Unbelievably, Potter is getting more speed from his broom! Harrison is dropping back. They're skimming the ground now. Potter lunges forward… He's caught the Snitch! The Cannons win!"_

Harry zoomed around the pitch, holding the Snitch aloft until he was mobbed by the other team members. They landed, exchanging congratulatory handshakes and hugs.

"Seven tomorrow morning," Wood gasped, his voice hoarse from shouting commands. "Our defense had some gaping holes in it and –"

The team groaned. "Oh, come on, Oliver!" McDowell said. "We just won the match, give us a day off!"

"Eight then," Oliver snapped, heading for the locker rooms. "And don't be late!"

Harry shook his head. Wood was fanatical as ever, and tonight was sure to be late and filled with alcohol. Well, if he fell asleep on his broom tomorrow and split his head open, it wouldn't be his fault.

"Harry! Harry!"

He turned just in time to catch an armful of Hermione. "That was wonderful, Harry! Although if you ever dare do that horrible Sloth-Grip-Roll thing again – "

"Hermione almost had a heart attack," Ron put in with a grin, coming up beside them. "_I _thought it was brilliant."

"Honestly, Ron, Harry could have been seriously injured! It's absolutely irresponsible of Oliver to keep putting Harry in these situations where he has no protection from the Beaters! That's what they're there for!"

"Oh, you know you love it, Hermione." Ron gave her a kiss on her cheek. "Danger, thrills, excitement!"

Hermione sniffed. "It's all very well until someone breaks their neck, Ron!"

"So, did either of you happen to see Draco anywhere?" Harry asked, hiding a smile.

"Right behind you," a voice said, and Harry quickly turned around. Draco was lounging against the bleachers, wearing his Cannon's T-shirt. Orange shouldn't have looked good on Draco, but it did.

"Hey," Harry said, smiling. "I didn't think you were going to be able to come."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Have I missed one game of yours?"

"Well, no, but I know you had some appointments this afternoon – "

"Cancelled."

Harry went over to him and gave him a kiss.

Draco kissed him back, smiling. "Spectacular flying, by the way."

Harry grinned. "Thanks." He stepped back. "I'm going to go take a shower. I'll meet you guys at the Leaky Cauldron, okay?"

"Yep, see you there, mate," Ron said, and he and Hermione Disapparated.

"Room for two in there?" Draco jerked his head toward the locker rooms.

"Only if you want a lecture from Oliver on the fifty times I should have had the Snitch, but missed it. You know he's hanging around in there, just waiting."

Draco grimaced. "No thanks. We'll just have to agree on making the most of – what did Weasley call it? – the danger, thrills, and excitement when we get home."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded and noisy when he arrived. Several other Cannon team members also came there to celebrate after the match, and inevitably other people dropped in – assorted Weasleys, Neville, Dean and Seamus.

"Falcons took the entirely wrong approach, of course. I don't know what their Beaters thought they were doing."

"Yeah, they didn't get a Bludger near any of the Cannons the entire first fifteen minutes!"

"Was that a new idea of Oliver's? Having the Chasers stay low to the ground? Took the Falcons off guard, that's for sure!"

Hermione usually retreated into a corner with her book for the first hour or so when the talk was mainly Quidditch oriented. Although lately Harry had caught her looking over at them with an interested expression.

"We'll make a Quidditch fanatic of you yet, Hermione," he said, coming over to sit next to her. The party was breaking up a little – people going off to their own private conversations.

Hermione sniffed. "I think Ron is fanatical enough for the both of us," she said. "Enough for all of London, in fact." She smiled. "Although I might accept a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages _for Christmas."

"I knew it," Harry said, grinning. "So, how are things with you?"

"Well, I've been working with Healer Bostwick from Spell Damage on a way to re-grow bones without using that awful Skele-Gro potion. We've been making progress – should have a spell to test by next week. It's fascinating, working with magic on a molecular level."

"That's great, Hermione. But what about _you_?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. The part of Hermione that _isn't_ the most brilliant experimental Healer St. Mungo's has."

Hermione fiddled with her drink. "I'm great, Harry."

"Really?"

"We're going over to the Burrow to celebrate Bill's birthday tomorrow," Hermione said brightly. "I'm sure you'd be welcome, too."

Harry knew she was avoiding his question, but let it pass. "The Burrow, huh?" He glanced over at Draco. Bill had been talking to him about some Gringott's business, but now Bill was off with the twins, and Draco was sitting at the table with his drink. Alone.

"Not just yet," he said.

"We all miss you, Harry. I know you miss it, too."

"Yeah, I do, but I don't think Draco's ready yet."

Hermione nodded. "How are things going with you two?"

"Good. Really good, except…"

"Except?"

Harry hesitated. _I'm afraid. Afraid something will happen to take him away from me. Just like my parents and Sirius. _But it felt silly, melodramatic, to say something like that. And anyway, he and Draco had promised each other, hadn't they? They had promised to never leave the other alone ever again.

Hermione laid her hand on his arm. "Harry?"

Harry forced a smile. "I don't know what to get Draco for Christmas," he said. "It's our first together, after all."

Hermione laughed. "You'll think of something. Remember that weird smelling perfume Ron gave me back in fifth year?"

"Yep. Although I don't think weird is the right word. Incredibly strong and pungent if I remember correctly."

"Well, I still have it. I wear some on our anniversary every year. So whatever you give Draco, I know he'll love it."

"I guess so. You want help dragging Ron away from all things Quidditch?"

"Oh, I think I've got it covered," Hermione replied, a gleam in her eye. "Good night, Harry. And good flying."

"Good night, Hermione."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Stumbling from the fireplace into their living room, Harry coughed and rubbed the soot from his face. He hated Floo powder, but Apparating after a few drinks was a good way to get splinched, and that was the last way Harry wanted to spend the evening. Not when there were other, much, much better things to do.

"Bath first," Draco said, as soon as he stepped from the fireplace. He directed Harry into the bathroom and filled the tub with a flick of his wand.

"You're a god," Harry groaned as he relaxed in the steaming warmth. Draco massaged his shoulders, and Harry felt his muscles, tense and sore from the game, begin to relax.

"Well, the Malfoys have been worshipped for centuries in rural Yugoslavia," Draco murmured in Harry's ear.

"Liar," Harry said, flicking some water half-heartedly in Draco's direction.

When Harry's body no longer felt like it had been trampled by a hippogriff, Draco ushered him from the bath and into a fluffy towel. Harry's mind was just beginning to look forward to the next step – a warm, soft bed and Draco – when there was a commotion from the living room.

"Harry?" Ron's voice. "Harry? Are you around?"

He exchanged an exasperated glance with Draco. "Yeah, I'm here!" he replied, stepping out from the bathroom. Ron's head was sticking up in the fireplace. "What is it?"

"I've just been called down to Headquarters." Ron paused, his face serious. "I hate to ask, but would you mind coming down for a little while?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not an Auror anymore, Ron, in case you forgot."

"I know. You're the only person who can help, though."

"Can't it wait?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Thanks, mate." Ron's head disappeared.

Harry looked up at Draco. "Sorry about this."

"I'll expect a better apology than that when you get back," Draco said, giving Harry a slightly reproachful look.

"Don't worry." Harry grinned. "I'll make it worth the wait."

Draco smirked and went off to the kitchen. Harry got to his feet, suppressing a groan, and went to put some clothes on. If only it could just be some paperwork that he forgot to finish before he left. Unfortunately, he didn't think that would be the case.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry had never liked being at the Auror Headquarters at night. The lights always seemed too bright, the sounds too loud. A few months away hadn't changed anything, and the less than pleasant circumstances of his departure only increased the uncomfortable feeling. Avoiding the stares of the other Aurors who were working late, he ducked into Ron's office. Ron was sitting in front of a dusty book, looking tired and stressed.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, shutting the door.

Ron looked up. "Harry. Sorry again about bringing you down here, but I thought you needed to see this. Plus, you're the only Parselmouth I know."

"What does Parseltongue have to do with it?"

Ron gestured for him to take a seat. "Remember when the Aurors went through Malfoy Manor and removed any possible Dark object they found?"

"Right before they burned it to the ground."

Ron frowned. "I don't remember you objecting to it at the time."

"I wasn't with Draco at the time, either," Harry said. "Look, let's not get into this again. What's with the book?"

"Right, sorry." Ron cleared his throat. "Well, the Aurors basically brought back everything from dusty knickknacks to some really nasty Dark artifacts. A research team has been slowly sifting through all the stuff, and today they found this." He pushed the book towards Harry. "It's ancient. Preserving spells are the only thing holding it together. And it's written in Parseltongue. All of it."

Slowly Harry reached out and pulled the book toward him. The cover was blank except for a drawing of a snake. He opened it. Weird marks and symbols filled the pages. "How do they know this is Parseltongue?" he asked.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "It matches some writing that was found in Voldemort's chambers after…you know."

Harry slammed the book shut. "I can't read it. It's gibberish."

"Did Draco ever mention this stuff to you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Ron said hastily. "I just wondered. We need to find out what this is."

Harry crossed his arms. "No. He never mentioned any of this."

Ron massaged his temples. "Look, Harry, do you think you can try to read it one more time?"

"I can't speak Parseltongue without looking at a snake. I don't know how I'm supposed to read it."

"Please, Harry? Who knows what Dark spells might be in there?"

"I know, I know." Harry sighed. He looked at the snake on the cover again – concentrated on how the light glinted off its embossed silver scales. He opened the book.

_My world is changing. I was one of the catalysts, but the result is neither one I anticipated nor wanted. Now I face the prospect of much of my work being ignored and forgotten. I am not prepared to accept this fate passively. As one countermeasure, I record here a brief testament to what I have achieved. I do not think anyone would deny, not even Godric, that I have accomplished some remarkable things in my lifetime. I will not record everything – some secrets are best kept until the time is right for their disclosure – but a few select triumphs that show how far I have come and what may yet lie before me. _

Harry felt a chill go through him as he read the spidery writing, thin and faded from time. "I think this belonged to Salazar Slytherin," he said.

"Slytherin? What makes you say that?"

"It makes sense that the Malfoys would want to collect something from a famous wizard like Slytherin. Plus, he mentions 'Godric' right here at the beginning."

"Godric Gryffindor." Ron gave a low whistle. "Well what's old Salazar talking about? How awful half-bloods are?"

"No. At least not yet." Reluctantly, Harry flipped through a few more pages. What he really wanted to do was get up and leave. Go back to Draco. The book reminded him of the Chamber of Secrets. He could almost smell the cold reptilian stink of the place. "It looks like a record of spells he came up with that he thought were particularly wonderful."

Ron shuddered. "Let me guess. Nasty variations on _Cruciatus_."

Harry was staring down at the one of the last pages in the book. _I realise that I tempt Fate by writing this down…_"I'm not really sure," Harry said. _This book may yet fall into the hands of those who would rather destroy than create, yet I find I cannot resist…_"It's not like he has names for them." _Death is a mystery which has taunted the greatest witches and wizards. But is it final? What might one learn in the beyond? If one were to return from that – perhaps it would be with powers this world has never seen._ "I think he's recorded the theory behind the spell, rather than the actual spell itself. It looks like Hermione's Arithmancy textbook."

_So I will tempt Fate and write this down. After all, there is nothing so satisfying as a worthy adversary. _

"Figures that the Malfoys would have something of Slytherin's." Ron yawned. "But as long as the book isn't going to blow up or anything, I think I'll leave it for tomorrow. Thanks for coming down here and checking it out, mate."

"Sure." Harry felt numb. It felt like a huge wave was crashing down on him. He could leave. Say he really didn't have the time right now – that it didn't look like there was anything important there anyway. But – "If you want, I can take it home and write out a translation for you."

"That would be great, Harry." He could tell Ron was relieved at not having to ask Harry himself. "If it won't take too much time."

"It's no problem."

"And, uh, we'll just keep it between ourselves that you have it, okay?"

"Right." Harry slipped the book into his cloak pocket. Ron locked up his office, and they walked back up to the Atrium.

Ron took a pinch of Floo powder and disappeared into the green flames with a good night wave. Harry took a handful of powder, but didn't throw it in the fire. His breathing sounded loud in the huge, empty room. This was where he had cast _Cruciatus_ on Bellatrix. Where Voldemort had possessed him, the night Sirius was killed. _Why can't I just forget? __Why do I have to be reminded of it?_ His fingers curled around the hard edges of the book. The Dark Arts. Slytherin. Voldemort. "Why can't you leave me alone?" he shouted suddenly, and his voice echoed back at him, then left him to an empty silence.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, when he heard Harry stumble out of the fireplace. He expected Harry to come directly to bed, but the minutes ticked by with no sign of him. Finally, Draco got up to see what was going on.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, a sheet of parchment before him and a quill in hand. He was studying an old book, occasionally writing something down. "What's that?" Draco asked.

Harry jumped, a blob of ink spattering onto the parchment. Cursing, Harry blotted at it with his sleeve. "I thought you were asleep," he said, glancing up at Draco.

"Well, I'm not. What is that?" he asked again.

"A book."

"I can _see _that. What book?"

"Nothing. It's Auror business."

"And you're not an Auror. If you can know, so can I."

"Look, it's not important. Ron needs me to translate it, that's all."

"Not important. And yet here you are at two in the morning, scribbling away frantically. If it's not important you could leave it until a decent hour."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I just want to finish it," he said. "Get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

Harry was silent. Biting back an exasperated noise, Draco leaned over and snatched up the book.

"Hey – give it back!" Harry grabbed for it, but Draco moved away, putting the table between them. He opened the book and scanned a page.

"It's all weird scribbles." He turned it upside down. Then a thought struck him, and he narrowed his eyes. "Is this Parseltongue?"

Harry scowled. "Yes."

A chill ran through Draco. "It's not…_his_…is it?" he whispered. The book slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

"No," Harry said, "It's not _Voldemort's_." He picked the book up and flipped back to the page he had been translating. "It's Salazar Slytherin's. Although I'm surprised you don't know that already."

"How in hell am I supposed to know that?"

"They found it in your house."

"The Manor?"

"Yes, the bloody Manor," Harry muttered and started writing again.

Draco stared at him for a few moments. "What is with you?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine." Harry didn't look up.

"You're not fine. Any idiot can see that."

"I'm fine," Harry repeated. "Can we not talk about this now? I'm going to translate this and send it back to Ron. That's all. It's not important."

Draco stared at Harry for a few more moments, then shook his head. "Okay, whatever. I'm going to bed. Sure you don't want to come?"

Harry didn't respond. Sighing, Draco got up and went to the door. "Good night, Harry," he said softly, but Harry just kept writing.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Ron?"

Ron yawned. "Yeah?"

He felt Hermione roll over to face him. "I hope you're getting paid overtime for tonight. I mean was it really necessary to haul you down there at midnight?"

Ron stifled a groan. Wonderful. Hermione was curious about what he had been doing. "It wasn't anything major, sweetheart. Nothing Harry and I couldn't handle." Shit. He had mentioned Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione said sharply. "What was he doing there?"

"He was just helping me out a little."

"Ron," Hermione began in a stern tone, "we talked about this before. Harry's trying to get away from all of that. He doesn't need you pulling him back in."

"I know, I know. But he was the only one who could…do what needed to be done," Ron finished lamely.

"And that was?"

Ron sighed. He could, of course, tell Hermione that it was confidential information, and he really couldn't disclose it to her. He knew she wouldn't press him if he said that. Still, there wasn't really a good reason not to tell her. Harry had said there wasn't anything dangerous in the book. Just some old spells. "We found a book in the stuff we took from Malfoy Manor. It was written in Parseltongue, and – "

"Harry is the only one who could read it."

"Which I was about to say." Ron gave her a glare which she couldn't see. "Anyway, it turns out it was written by Salazar Slytherin. Bunch of spells he made up or something. Harry couldn't make heads or tails of them, though – said they reminded him of your Arithmancy textbook."

"How fascinating," Hermione murmured. "Spells written by Salazar Slytherin. I wonder what they do?"

"Well, Harry's translating it for me. Then we'll chuck it over to some Committee or other." Ron yawned again. "Any more questions, or can I go to sleep?" He leaned over and kissed Hermione to show he didn't really mind.

"No, no more questions," Hermione said, absently returning his kiss.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_I should have just enough time_, Hermione thought to herself, glancing at the clock. Time enough to go over to Harry's and catch him before he left for Quidditch practice and still get to work on time herself. She wrapped some toast in a napkin and stuck it in her bag for later. Ron was still asleep. He didn't really have a set schedule and often didn't leave for the Ministry until after ten unless there was something urgent going on.

Hermione knew Ron probably wasn't going to like her interfering like this. No – she wasn't interfering. There was nothing dangerous about this or Ron wouldn't have told her. It couldn't hurt to have a look at this book. How could she pass up a chance to read something written by Salazar Slytherin? Once it was handed off to the Ministry, it would probably never see the light of day again. Anyway, it sounded like Harry would need her help with the spells.

Putting on her cloak over her Healer's robes, she Apparated to Godric's Hollow. The sun was just cresting the hills, bathing the small house in a golden glow. Pulling out her wand, she cast the spell that let her pass through the wards unharmed, and walked up to the door. She knocked. A few seconds later, Draco jerked it open. He was still in his pajamas and looked like he hadn't slept well.

"Good morning," Hermione said with a smile. "Can I come in and see Harry for a second?"

Draco scowled. "Harry's in the shower. Overslept and now he's going to be late for practice. It'll have to wait."

"This won't take a moment," Hermione said, and pushed past Draco into the living room. She sat down on the couch.

Draco remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest. "You want tea or something?" he finally asked.

"Oh, no thank you." Hermione cleared her throat. "So, I guess Harry is going to be translating a book of spells for Ron?"

Draco's scowl deepened. "Translated. He was up all bloody night."

"And it was really written by Salazar Slytherin?"

"Apparently so. I guess I'm supposed to be the expert on it, since it was found in the Manor. Even though I've never seen it in my life."

Hermione was about to question the wisdom of this statement when the bathroom door opened and Harry appeared, dressed in his Quidditch robes. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry for the unexpected visit, Harry," she said, smiling. She'd have to approach the subject in a tactful way – Harry was probably going to be reluctant to let her see it. "I just thought I'd stop by and – "

"She wants a look at the damn book," Draco interjected with a snarl, and pushed past Harry into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Harry scowled at the closed door and then turned back to Hermione. "Is that true?"

Hermione sighed. So much for tact. "Yes. Ron told me about it last night. I wanted to take a look at it, see if I could figure out what the spells were for."

As expected, Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione."

"Why not?"

"It might be dangerous."

"How dangerous can deciphering spells be? It's not like I'm going to use them if they're Dark."

"What I read last night…I'm afraid it might go beyond spells." Harry had moved into a patch of sunlight while talking, and Hermione could see the shadows under his eyes, a tightness to his expression.

"Harry, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry hesitated. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "I'll show you," he said, beckoning her into the kitchen.

Hermione picked the book up carefully, opened it. She ran her finger slowly along the lines of symbols and odd marks that filled the pages. "It's really written in Parseltongue. Were you able to translate all of it?"

Harry handed her a sheaf of parchment which Hermione took eagerly.

"Recognise any of the equations?" Harry asked after a few moments.

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied. "There are quite a few here that I've studied, but the way they're put together… I _think _that this first spell has to do with Transfiguration, but I'm not sure."

"It's not the first one I'm concerned about." Harry took the parchment from her and rifled through to another page. "Read this one."

… _Death is a mystery which has taunted the greatest witches and wizards. But is it final? What might one learn in the beyond? If one were to return from that – perhaps it would be with powers this world has never seen…_

Hermione frowned. Long equations were crowded together after the text, numbers pushing up against one another. "You don't think – "

"What if it is?" Harry asked quietly. "What if he figured out a way to return from the dead?"

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said. "Slytherin has been dead for over a thousand years. If he could come back, you'd think he would have done so long before now."

"Maybe." Harry looked unconvinced. "Can you figure out what this spell is, though?"

Hermione looked back down at the parchment. _Nothing is so satisfying as a worthy adversary_. "I can figure it out."

"I know it's probably nothing, but just to make sure…"

"Of course. I'll take the book, too, give it back to Ron."

Harry cleared his throat. "Is Ron going to be okay with you researching this? I know it's technically Auror business."

Hermione sniffed. "Rules are something that have never bothered Ron. Or you for that matter."

"True." Harry grinned for a moment, but then his smile faded. "I just want you to know that you don't have to do this."

"I know. But I want to." She gave Harry a smile. "It's been too long since I had a good puzzle to work on."

"If anyone can figure it out, you can," Harry told her, and Hermione felt a swell of pride. "Let me know when you find out something, okay?"

"Okay. And don't you worry about it anymore." She gave Harry a quick hug. "I better get going or I'll be late for work."

"Yeah, I'm surprised Oliver hasn't sent me a Howler yet," Harry replied gloomily, as Hermione gathered her things. "Have fun at the Burrow tonight. Say hi to everyone for me."

The Burrow. Hermione bit back a groan. She had almost forgotten. "Sure you don't want to come?" she asked Harry again.

"Yes. We'll be there for Christmas, though."

"I'll tell Mrs. Weasley that – she'll be thrilled. Now don't overdo it in Quidditch today," Hermione went on in her best "motherly" tone of voice. Harry rolled his eyes and promised he wouldn't.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

After Hermione left, Harry went over to the bathroom door and knocked. "I know you were listening," he said. Silence. "Draco?"

"It's not fair that you can sense my eavesdropping charms," Draco muttered, opening the door.

"I didn't sense it." Harry tried to hide a smile. "I just know you."

A glare from Draco. "Why didn't you tell me about the spell?"

Harry rubbed his thumb over his Quidditch gloves. "I'm sorry. It's just that I thought we had gotten away from all that. I was angry."

Draco nodded slowly, then shrugged. "Hey, it's probably nothing anyway, right? Like Granger said, if Slytherin could have come back, he would have done so a long time ago."

"I guess."

Draco reached out to brush back a lock of Harry's tangle hair. "Forget about it, okay? We can't have you distracted while you're out there on your broom. I don't want to come dig pieces of Harry out of the Quidditch pitch."

Harry managed a smile. "Thanks for the image." He kissed the side of Draco's mouth. "I'll see you tonight. Be nice to the goblins."

"Right."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco always kept his desk neat, with papers in orderly piles, quills and parchment at the ready. He chipped wax off one corner of the desk while waiting for his first appointment, trying not to feel nervous. The initial meeting with a client was always the hardest. After that one, Draco knew what to expect – pity, scorn, or humiliation. The rich ones were usually the worst. He didn't know how he had been able to stand being around these people when he was younger. Not that Draco was averse to money. No, he liked purchasing well-tailored suits, taking Harry out to the finest restaurants. Well, maybe not that last one. He and Harry hadn't really been out anywhere together on what you would call a real date. Neither of them liked the staring or the whispers. Bringing home really expensive wine to Harry, then; he liked that. Of course, his current salary was nothing like the amounts of money he had stood to inherit. The amounts of money his father had controlled. And he missed it – the comforts that came with money. The respect.

His current clients were old acquaintances of his father. They were moving back to England from France and were looking into transferring their account to Gringotts. They both smirked when they saw Draco.

"Draco, how good to see you again. We heard all about it in the papers, of course."

"What a lovely office you have here. Is the pay good? I'm sure I can't imagine what it would be like – working for goblins!"

"Whatever are you doing here anyway, Draco? I've heard that Potter is rich. And now that he's playing for the Cannons, I'm sure he must be rolling in gold."

"Indeed. You were always such a handsome boy – and look at what a lovely young man you've grown into. I'm sure Potter must appreciate it."

Humiliation, then. Draco forced a smile and told them about the top of the line security measures at Gringotts.

Every day it was a struggle to make himself come in to work. Oh, he had looked at other places, but nobody wanted him. They nervously flipped through his resume during interviews, and all the while their eyes were fixed on his arm. Draco had snapped once and shoved up his sleeve, thrusting the Dark Mark into the face of a startled businessman, asking with a snarl if _this _was what he wanted to see. The goblins didn't give a damn, though.

He never told Harry about it. He knew Harry would never let him come back if he knew about the veiled insults and insinuations that Draco faced every day. Besides, when he was with Harry, none of it mattered. All of it was soothed away after a few kisses, a few seconds in Harry's arms.

After the clients left, making sure to get in a few parting sneers, Draco went over to the window and looked down on the bustle of Diagon Alley. Shopkeepers were putting out Christmas decorations. Draco thought about what Harry had told Hermione that morning – that they would be at the Burrow for Christmas. _I suppose I can put up with the entire Weasley clan for a few hours. _He knew Harry missed them and the only reason he hadn't been there for months was Draco. At least Mrs. Weasley was rumored to be a fantastic cook. Neither he nor Harry was much good in the kitchen (well, if it was actual _cooking _you were talking about, Draco thought with a smirk) and they cycled through a succession of takeaway, cereal, and frozen dinners.

A tapping at the window heralded the arrival of an owl. Probably someone annoyed at the climbing interest rates. Draco untied the parchment, shooing the owl on its way when it seemed reluctant to leave.

_Draco,_

_I'm sure you're surprised to be hearing from me. A long way from the Slytherin common room, and skiving off Transfiguration, isn't it? I have an offer for you. I can't go into too many details here, but I'm looking for someone to take the lead in a new project. The old crowd is gone, except for you. You're the only one who's fought back against the Ministry (nice job on Potter, by the way) and so I thought I'd ask you first. Let me assure you that the rewards will be substantial. The past isn't as dead as some people like to think. _

_Send me a reply as soon as possible. _

_Theodore Nott_

Well, shit.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione ran over to the library during her lunch break. She hadn't known about this library when she was at Hogwarts; it was hidden down a side street of Diagon Alley. She had found it one day when she was out for a walk, mulling over a difficult case they were working on at the hospital. Since then, well, as Ron said, he would always know where to come looking for her if she didn't show up for dinner.

She immediately went to the section on Magical Theory. She had received an elementary background in spell invention at Hogwarts (often on her own initiative – the enchanted Galleons for the D.A. came to mind) and was learning more working at St. Mungo's, but she was going to need to do some more research to figure out those spells of Slytherin's. Feeling a familiar twinge of excitement, she ran her fingers over the titles, pulling out promising volumes.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

She stumbled into Irene Bostwick when she got back to the hospital, unable to quite see over the stack of books piled in her arms. "Got enough reading material there, Hermione?" Irene asked, sounding amused.

"Just need to do a little research," Hermione said casually, tipping the books onto a table. "How is the spell coming?"

"Very well. I tried it on a mouse this morning, and it worked perfectly. Now we just need a few human subjects to test it on – unless you want to de-bone your arm in the interests of science?"

"Not particularly," Hermione replied. "I'll go canvas the wards this afternoon and see if anyone's waiting for a dose of Skele-Gro."

Irene handed her a stack of charts. "Have at it. By the way, have you decided if you're coming to the conference?"

Hermione buttoned up her Healer's robes, not looking at Irene. "I'm not sure yet. Ron…wasn't too keen on the whole idea."

"Well, I need to know soon so I can order the tickets."

"Right. I'll know for sure tomorrow."

"Okay. Tell me when you've found a willing victim." Irene smiled and went out into the hall.

Hermione remained standing for a moment, then sank down onto a chair. Ron had been furious when she mentioned she might go to the three week conference St. Mungo's was holding in Paris this coming summer. "Don't you spend enough time with this job already?" he had snapped.

So now she had an almost certain argument with Ron to look forward to this evening, as well as a visit to the Burrow. Wonderful.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

By the time Ron got home that evening, they were already twenty minutes late to dinner. "Let me just take a shower and we'll go," Ron said, giving her a breathless kiss and dashing into the bathroom. Hermione tried to read while she waited, but couldn't concentrate. She got up and went to look at her outfit in the mirror again. Black slacks and a red sweater. She could already hear Mrs. Weasley's comment: "You look lovely dear – so professional." Which was exactly the problem.

"Do you have Bill's present?" Ron asked, hastily buttoning up his shirt. Hermione held up the brightly wrapped box. "Great." Ron slipped an arm around her waist – they always Apparated together like this – and they reappeared in the front yard of the Burrow.

"Looks like Dad picked out the Christmas tree already," Ron said, pointing to the plump green fir leaning against the steps. "We'll have to get ours soon. Hey Mum! Dad! We're here!"

The first few minutes at the Burrow were always a confused swirl of red hair, hugs, and, if Fleur was there, loud exclamations in French. "Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving Hermione a hug, "you look so nice in that outfit – so neat and professional."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Dinner smells delicious, as usual."

"We were beginning to wonder if you guys would show up," Bill said as they all sat down at the table.

"Busy day at work," Ron said, taking a large helping of potatoes.

"Anything serious?" Mr. Weasley asked, trying to sound casual, but his face tightened with worry.

"Don't know yet. Let's not talk about it now, though," Ron said, with a pointed look at Bill and Fleur's three year old daughter, Sophie. Hermione thought of Slytherin's book and felt a chill. Surely Harry's suspicions were unfounded?

"Have some more chicken, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said, pushing the serving platter towards him. Ron heaped a few more slices on his plate, and Hermione gritted her teeth. Did Ron have to make it look like he never got a decent meal except at the Burrow? Of course, on the nights Ron was cooking, neither of them really did get a decent meal. Hermione had flatly refused to do all the cooking, though.

Fleur started regaling them with a long tale of Gabrielle's recent visit and Hermione's mind wandered back to the spell theory books she had been reading. She came back to the present with a start when Fred set off a particularly loud firework, signaling that it was time for cake and presents. Hermione settled into a chair and watched Sophie shriek with laughter as Bill turned into a canary – no doubt due to one of the twins hiding a Canary Crème in his slice of cake.

"I think I missed saying hi in the melee when you arrived," Ginny said, sitting down next to her.

Hermione smiled. "How are you doing, Ginny?"

"I'm good. I've been seeing someone – he had to work tonight or I would have brought him along."

"That's wonderful. What's his name?"

"Martin. He's a photographer for the Daily Prophet." Ginny blushed a little. "It's pretty serious."

"That's wonderful!" Hermione leaned over and gave Ginny a hug. "You must be so happy."

"I am. Mum and Dad both like him, and even Fred and George haven't given him too hard of a time." Ginny took a sip of her drink. "I thought maybe Harry might come tonight."

"He was busy," Hermione lied. "He said they'll be here for Christmas, though."

"Malfoy, too, then?"

"Yes, _Draco_ as well."

Ginny stood up. "I think I'll get some more cake. Would you like another piece?" Hermione shook her head. Ron and Mrs. Weasley were talking over in the corner, and Ron kept shooting glances her way. Hermione ignored him and went to talk to Charlie. She was not going to get dragged into that discussion again.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"So, what did make you so late this evening?" Hermione asked when they got home.

"A dead body turned up in Knockturn Alley. Some bloke named Eric Ives – he was two years behind us at Hogwarts. Slytherin."

"Was he murdered?"

"We aren't sure. He was involved in illegal potions dealing, so it wouldn't surprise me if he got into some kind of trouble. But there wasn't a mark on him."

"Avada Kedavra, then."

"That's what we all thought, at first. But Avada Kedavra leaves certain signs if you know what to look for. We got the autopsy results back and there was nothing."

"Maybe it was a heart attack. I know from personal experience that Healers often don't look for Muggle ailments in wizards."

"Yeah, could be. I'll mention it tomorrow." Ron paused, cleared his throat. Hermione knew what was coming next, and tried to escape into the kitchen, but Ron stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I know what you're going to say, Ron, and I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Well I do want to talk about it."

"It's your mother who keeps bringing it up," Hermione snapped.

"I don't understand you sometimes, Hermione. It's a simple question – "

"It is not simple. If you'd just let me explain how I feel without getting angry – "

"Because that's what you're good at, isn't it? Explaining things. Well this isn't a bloody textbook, Hermione!"

"I know that!"

They glared at each other. "I just want to _talk _about it," Ron said. "Without you treating me like I'm a first-year."

Hermione tugged her arm away from Ron and leaned against the wall. "Fine, then."

Ron sighed and tugged at his sleeves. "Well, what do you think about it, then? About having kids?"

Hermione was silent for a few moments. "I don't know," she said at last.

"You don't know? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that. I don't know how I feel about it."

"I want to," Ron said. "Have kids."

"Well good for you."

"That's helpful, Hermione. Really helpful."

"I'm just telling you how I feel."

"I thought maybe you were going to hex me! You always get so mad when we talk about this."

"I'm sorry. But with your mother nagging you every time we go to the Burrow, I feel like I'm obligated to do this or something. And all those remarks she makes about my job. Not that you stand up for me."

"Well you know I don't like how much time you spend over there."

"Who was at the Ministry at midnight last night?"

Ron scowled. "You know that I would cut back my hours. But you're never around here anyway, so I figure, what's the point?"

"I am around. But my work takes time and it's very important to me. I've always spent a long time doing research – you knew that when we got married."

"I guess I thought you believed other things were important, too," Ron muttered.

Hermione didn't think she could respond to that without bursting into tears or slapping him. "I went to see Harry today," she said instead, and Ron looked up quickly.

"You're not on about that book of Slytherin's, are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Harry wants me to take a look at the spells. See if I can figure out what they're for."

"Why? I thought he said they weren't anything important."

Hermione paused. "Actually, one of them seems to imply that Slytherin found a way to come back from the dead." She felt a small bit of pleasure at being able to drop _that _bombshell on Ron after the way he had been acting.

Ron's eyes widened. "What?"

"I have my doubts, but Harry thought we better make sure."

"Wait – just hold on one second, Hermione. First of all, there is no _we _involved in this. Certainly not you – hell, even Harry shouldn't be meddling in Auror business."

"_You're _the one who asked him to meddle in the first place," Hermione pointed out.

"And I'm regretting it now. The Unspeakables should handle this."

"What, don't you think I can do it?"

"It has nothing to do with whether you can or not! It's potentially dangerous and it should be handled by qualified Ministry officials."

"Fine. Hand it over to the Ministry. They'll probably laugh it off like they always do. But I'm going to keep researching it."

"No, you won't."

Hermione lifted her chin. "Harry has confidence in me. He thinks I can figure it out."

"Well bloody good for Harry."

"You could be a bit more supportive, Ron."

"See, it's always about your work, Hermione! It's always about you solving some medical mystery or some ancient spell! We're supposed to be a family!"

"We are a family, Ron!"

"Well to me a family is more than just the two of us working all the time!" Ron gave her a final glare and then strode from the room, his face red. Hermione heard the bedroom door slam.

"I'm going to the medical conference this summer!" she shouted. Ron didn't answer. Hermione stood there for a few more moments, breathing hard. Finally she went over to her desk. She opened one of the books she had checked out, took out her quill to take notes. Her hand trembled a little at first, but she slowly calmed down, losing herself in the small, cramped paragraphs.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco lay propped up on his elbow, watching Harry sleep. It was quite dark, but a hint of moonlight shining through the curtains illuminated the room enough that he could see Harry's face. Dark lashes brushed pale cheekbones. Tangled black hair obscured the scar. Harry looked…innocent. As innocent as though he had never seen anyone murdered or been forced to commit murder himself.

But eventually Harry would wake up, and Draco would see the shadows in his eyes. Thinking of the part he had played, however small, in putting those shadows there made Draco's heart constrict with guilt. If only he could take it all back – the insults, the stupid pranks. Most of all the help he had given to the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord had succeeded – if Harry had died… Hesitantly, Draco slipped an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him a little closer. Harry sighed, and smiled slightly, but kept sleeping.

Draco often watched Harry like this. He wanted to be on guard so that when Harry had a nightmare, he would be there to wake Harry up, assure him that everything was okay. A small thing, but perhaps it would atone for some of his sins.

The letter was in the pocket of Draco's cloak. He hadn't answered it. He hadn't told Harry about it either. The truth was that part of him wanted to say yes. Those hints about the Dark Arts – they were just hints, right? In all likelihood, Nott wasn't involved in anything illegal. It was probably some lucrative business venture. Draco imagined himself stepping into Gringotts, not as an employee, but as a valued customer. Thousands of galleons piled up in his vault.

Except Draco knew it wasn't a lucrative business venture. Oh, money would probably be involved, but the whole thing stank of the Dark. The memory of shadowed days in Azkaban drifted back, and Draco shuddered. Never again. But still – part of him wanted to accept Nott's offer. Regain the influence and respect he had lost. _Do you really want to be just like those idiots you had to meet today? _a voice inside him, sounding suspiciously like Harry, asked.

_Yes_, a part of him answered. If he had money, people like that wouldn't be able to humiliate him. No one would care about the Dark Mark, or if they did, they wouldn't say anything.

_You shouldn't let those people hurt you. It doesn't matter what they think. _

_Easy for you to say_, Draco thought bitterly. That was the problem with inner voices. They told you all these wonderful truths, but you still had to face the bloody world on your own.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

What was this? The two-hundredth time? Three-hundredth? Once again, Hermione had been right. Often this made Ron proud. Sometimes it made him irritated. Today definitely fit into the irritated category, although some of that probably had to do with the fact that he was mad at her already.

Ron tried again. "Sir, I really think we need to take this seriously."

"I appreciate your concern," Robards said, "but I'm afraid a dusty book written by a wizard who has been dead for a thousand years – even if he was Salazar Slytherin – is not going on my list of priorities."

"But what if Harry's right about the whole 'coming back from the dead' thing?"

"In the first place, you had no business showing classified information like this to Potter."

"Yes, sir," Ron muttered.

"Regulations to the side, I am not really interested in Mr. Potter's views on the matter. He has already shown himself to be biased and melodramatic in any subject relating to his past – a fact which led to his dismissal from this department. I'm sure Potter naturally made the connection from Slytherin to Voldemort and that connection would certainly cloud his judgment."

"I don't think – "

Robards held up a hand. "I will send this book, along with Potter's translation, on to the Spell Theory Committee. When they get to it and what they do with it will be up to them."

"Yes, sir." Ron knew that without any extra prodding from Robards, it would likely be months before the committee even looked at it.

"Now, about this Ives case," Robards went on, clearly signaling that all discussion of Slytherin was at an end. "A team went through his flat yesterday and they found a letter from a Theodore Nott, whose name, I'm sure, is quite familiar to you." Ron nodded grimly. "The letter doesn't say much – just that Nott wants to get together with Ives, talk about old times at Hogwarts or something. I want you to go see Nott, ask him if he knows anything about the odd circumstances of Ives's death."

Glumly, Ron accepted the file Robards handed to him. Great, just what he had wanted to do – see an old Slytherin classmate again. He went to his office, shut the door. If Harry was there, they would be reminiscing about the stupidity of Crabbe and Goyle, how Snape always favored his own house, the time Fred and George stuck Montague in the Vanishing Cabinet. Then again, maybe they wouldn't. Now that Harry was with Draco, he seemed to have a new philosophy about Slytherins in general. Well, just so he didn't end up with a Malfoy-Nott-Potter love triangle on his hands, he wouldn't complain.

Ron took a Chocolate Frog from his desk drawer and unwrapped it, staring moodily at the picture of Morgana. Her again. "How can you spend thirteen years with someone and find out that you don't know them at all?" he asked her. She gave him a saucy smile and then disappeared out of the frame.

It was true, Ron thought. Harry, Hermione – they were like different people these days. Ron still couldn't believe it sometimes that Harry was friends with, _in love_ with Draco Malfoy. Every time Harry and Draco came over for dinner, held hands, _kissed_, it was like his world slipped into another reality.

And it was hard, too. Ron had thought he had the future figured out. He and Harry working together as Aurors. Going to Quidditch matches together. Harry married to Ginny. Seeing their kids get onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

Which brought him to Hermione. Now she was doing it to him, too. It wasn't that he didn't think it was brilliant that she worked at St. Mungo's – that _she _was brilliant. It wasn't like he hadn't known Hermione would be committed to her career.

But, Ron admitted to himself, at some point he had thought that would slow down. A few years into their marriage and he had pictured them with a new baby – Hermione happily ensconced in the huge library they would have in their house. A house, not a flat in London, but a house out in the country with lots of secret nooks and odd angles. A house with trees around it so he and Harry, who conveniently lived just over the hill, could play Quidditch without being seen by any Muggles.

Instead, Hermione spent all her time at work or researching dangerous projects that she shouldn't have gotten involved with in the first place, Harry was off playing Quidditch and sleeping with Malfoy, and Ron had to interrogate the slimy sons of Death Eaters and drink coffee that was more like flavored water. Ron knew that wasn't fair or true (except for the coffee), but it was how he _felt, _dammit.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione knew when she woke up, the morning after she and Ron fought, that they needed to sit down and talk about this like a mature, married couple. But Ron was being moody and disagreeable and she was upset and so instead of talking about it they just stopped talking all together. Ron stayed late at the Ministry, and Hermione threw herself into researching Slytherin's spell, determined to figure it out.

It took her two weeks of staying up until two in the morning or later. Then, one afternoon while mixing medicines, the solution hit her. She consulted her notes and Slytherin's equations once more, just to be sure. Yes. That was it. She hastily informed Irene she didn't feel well and needed the afternoon, off, and then rushed from St. Mungo's, Apparating to the Cannon's practice field.

The team was working on defensive maneuvers, a few fans gathered in the stands. Hermione spotted Harry hovering by one of the goalposts and waved frantically to get his attention. Harry flew down to her.

"Hermione, what is it? Is everything okay?"

"I solved it, Harry! I figured out the spell!"

Oliver was yelling something at them, but Harry ignored him, stepping closer. "And?" he asked quietly. "Is it what I thought?"

"I'm afraid it is," Hermione began. Harry turned pale, and his knuckles whitened where they clutched his broom. "But that doesn't mean Slytherin is back," she added hastily. "Can you take the afternoon off? I need to explain all this to you."

Harry hesitated, glancing up at the other players circling above them. "Okay," he said at last. "Let me tell Oliver."

Oliver, Hermione could tell, was not happy. There was a lot of shouting and gesticulating, but at last Harry flew back down, red in the face. "I'll just change and then we'll go," he said.

Hermione took him to a small coffee shop near the pitch. "You were right about what Slytherin was trying to do," she said after they had both ordered a drink. "The spell, however, doesn't exactly bring someone back from the dead. All it does is open a portal to the afterlife and allow someone to step back into this world."

"How would that help?"

"I'm not exactly sure of all the mechanics," Hermione confessed, "but I don't think Slytherin was, either. I think he was taking the chance that whatever he experienced after he died would give him the knowledge of how to get back through. You see, the spell is on a timer. Every ten years it's set off, opening the portal for a few minutes. Then, if Slytherin didn't come back through, the spell would go dormant for another ten years."

"So if the spell is still active, that means Slytherin hasn't come back, right?" Harry said. "And we could deactivate it, make sure he never comes back?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"So how do we go about doing that?'

"Well," Hermione continued, "it happens that portals like this can only be set up in specific locations. The only one in England is at a place called Dragon Hill, near Uffington."

"Dragon Hill? Sounds familiar."

Hermione nodded. "It's a famous site, even among Muggles. There's a huge chalk portrait of a white horse on a nearby hill that was created in the Bronze Age. And, according to legend, Dragon Hill is where St. George slew the dragon."

"So what do dragons have to do with Slytherin's spell?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter and went into her "textbook mode." "Not much. Legend aside, Dragon Hill was actually an important site for the ancients when they were carrying out Beltane rituals. They would construct a bonfire on top of the hill to celebrate the coming of summer. Now Beltane, along with Samhain, are the only two times of the year when portals to other worlds can be opened. I'm betting that Slytherin set up the spell to go off on one of those two dates on top of Dragon Hill where such rituals had often been carried out."

Harry grinned. "You're brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione fidgeted with her cup, trying not to look too pleased. "Up for a trip to Uffington?"

v.v.v.v.v.v.

They had to rent a car, as they couldn't Apparate to a place they had never been, but it only took them about two hours to get from London to Uffington. The city had gradually given way to a charming rural countryside. Signs led them to a small car park and path that led to the White Horse. Not that it was hard to miss. The white chalk figure could be seen miles before they had arrived.

"That's amazing," Harry said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Too bad you can't see the whole thing from down on the ground."

"Fancy a broom ride?"

Hermione gave him a look. "_No_, Harry. We aren't going to breach the Statutes of Secrecy today. Besides, we aren't here for the White Horse – we're here for that," she said, pointing.

Dragon Hill's flat top clearly identified it from other hills in the area. The sun was out and it wasn't too chilly, so they decided to walk the short distance from the White Horse to the Hill.

"We got a Christmas tree yesterday," Harry said as they trudged along.

"Oh?" Hermione suppressed a pang of sadness. Last year she and Ron had gone out and cut a tree, tramping for miles in the snow until they found the perfect one.

"It's beautiful, smells so good. It's a bit big for our living room, actually, but Draco insisted all the others were too small, even though I kept telling him that they always look smaller when they're outside. I guess having twenty foot ceilings as a child skewed his perspective a little."

Hermione managed a laugh.

"We put up holly all over the place, too, and these great silver garlands." Harry frowned. "I _hope _those are still up. Draco thought they were too gaudy, and I wouldn't put it past him to throw them in the rubbish bin while I'm not there, and then pretend he knows nothing about it. But I convinced him to go caroling with me one night," Harry continued with a grin. "We're both awful singers, of course – probably get pelted with snowballs."

Listening to Harry, Hermione couldn't help smiling. She thought of all the horribly sad and disappointing Christmases Harry must have spent with the Dursleys. Things had improved once he got to Hogwarts, of course, but there was still something a bit impersonal about spending Christmas at school. She knew he was trying to make up for all those lost Christmases. Then she thought about Ron again, and felt like crying.

"You're awfully quiet," Harry said, breaking into her thoughts.

"Just thinking," Hermione replied.

"Well, we're almost there." They were now struggling up the slope of the Hill itself, stumbling over stones and into brambles. Hermione noted that Harry had taken out his wand.

They reached the top, breathing hard. "Better view of the Horse from up here," Harry said, gazing back over the way they had come. "So what now?"

"Now we cast a Revealing spell on every inch of this hill. The spell is probably anchored near a stone." She began to walk toward a likely looking rock, but Harry stopped her.

"I can feel it," he said. "Right over there." He walked toward the center of the hill, and Hermione quickly followed.

Harry stopped, then walked back a few paces. "It's strongest right here – like someone's pricking my skin with needles."

"I don't feel anything." Hermione frowned and cast the Revealing spell. Nothing.

"I know magic was done here," Harry insisted. "Powerful magic."

"I don't doubt you, Harry. The portal spell described in Slytherin's book would take an immense amount of energy."

"But then why can't you –" Harry stopped.

"Because the portal spell has been used," Hermione finished reluctantly. "Slytherin found a way to return."

"No." Harry shook his head. "There has to be another reason."

"The chances that another wizard would happen upon the spell at the moment it activated are small. Even if that did happen, no one would know what it was." Hermione sighed. "It had to have been Slytherin."

Harry's jaw clenched. He stood still for a minute, then went back to the side of the Hill and sat down in the grass, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Hermione scanned the ground, looking for any other signs, but found nothing. She went and sat down by Harry.

"It doesn't make sense," Harry said. "If Slytherin had come back, we would know it."

"He must have done it at Samhain," Hermione said thoughtfully. "That was about a month ago, so the traces of the magic are still there for you to feel." She had a few disquieting thoughts about why Harry, but not she, could feel the magic, but didn't voice them.

"If he did figure out how to come back – if he found all these powers – he would have used them. We would _know _that he was back. I mean, why wait? Surprise would be to his advantage."

Harry's shoulders were slumped, and Hermione wanted desperately to reassure him. "Maybe he never set the spell in the first place," she said, "maybe this magic you're feeling has nothing to do with Slytherin."

Harry looked at her. "Do you really think that?" he asked grimly.

"No," she admitted.

"Me either. Fuck!" Harry threw a stone down the hill with sudden violence. "All the way up here, I kept telling myself that the spell would still be there, that we could stop this right now."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, you don't have to be involved with this. I'll tell Ron, and he can take over. He has all the resources at the Ministry – he can find Slytherin."

Harry stared out over the fields. "No," he said at last. "Tell Ron about it, definitely, tell him to start looking. But I'm going to look, too."

Hermione studied Harry's face for a few moments, and then wrapped her arms around him, pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hid his face in her shoulder. "What's life without the occasional Dark Wizard?" he said after a moment, his voice muffled.

"We wouldn't want to get bored," Hermione responded, but she knew Harry was upset, angry. She, too, felt a familiar sense of fear and suspense. It was always like that – it was fine reading about basilisks in books, but then you turned around and got petrified.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

All he wanted, Ron thought, as he trudged home, was a long, hot shower and to never see Theodore Nott again. This was the second time he had visited the little rat and gotten absolutely nothing from him. Yes, he had sent that letter to Eric, Nott told him. Eric had come over to see him one Saturday afternoon, they had talked for awhile, and that had been it. He hadn't seen Eric in the intervening three weeks before Eric's unfortunate demise. No, Nott didn't know who might want Eric dead. Although he had heard Eric was involved with some shady dealings. Had Mr. Weasley thought about checking out that side of things? Ron growled that yes, he had, and barely refrained from punching the smug bastard.

Opening the door, he found Hermione sitting on the couch. "Hi," he said shortly.

"Ron, I have something to tell you," Hermione said.

Cold panic shot through Ron. Oh Merlin – was she going to say she wanted a divorce? Didn't want to be with him anymore? "I love you, Hermione," he blurted out.

Hermione looked startled, but then she smiled. "I love you too, Ron," she said and a wave of relief swept over him. "I figured out Slytherin's spell," she went on and Ron's relief quickly evaporated as she told him about what had happened.

"And you really think he's back?" Ron asked weakly when she was done.

"Yes. Have you heard anything suspicious at the Ministry?"

"Nothing to make me think there's a super powerful Dark wizard hanging around," he said. "And you think we would have."

"I know, I know." Hermione made a frustrated noise. "I feel like we're missing something."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Look, without real proof of this, I don't think I can tell Robards or anyone else at the Ministry."

"Why not?"

"They didn't take the book seriously. And if I understand everything you've told me, all the proof we really have is that a spell that might have been set up on this Dragon Hill wasn't there, and Harry had a weird feeling about it."

"Harry isn't lying," Hermione said sharply.

"You know that, and I know that, but the Ministry is seriously upset at him about that whole business last year. Robards thinks he's mentally unstable. They'll never believe me if this is all we have to go on."

"But you'll keep your eyes open? See if you can find out anything?"

"Of course," Ron assured her.

"Thank you," Hermione said, and she got up and came over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Ron held her close.

"I'm worried about Harry," Hermione said softly. "He's so upset about all this."

"We'll keep him safe," Ron murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Hey, about these past few weeks – "

Hermione stiffened in his arms. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Look – "

"Not now, okay?"

"Okay." Ron put his arm back around her, but the moment was gone. He could feel the tension between them again and after awhile Hermione went to the kitchen, and he went to take a shower.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione was back in the library the next day. Something about this wasn't adding up. She pulled out a book discussing theories of the afterlife and took it back to a comfortable chair, reading as she went. Halfway there, she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, looking up and blushing. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"A good book can be distracting," the man she had bumped into said with a smile. He looked to be about her age, perhaps a few years older. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, and he had several books under his arm. "May I ask what had you so fascinated?"

Hermione held up the book so he could see the title.

"Interesting. Have you read Holloway's _Conversations with Ghosts_?"

"No," Hermione said eagerly. "I'll have to check it out."

"My name is Geoffrey, by the way," he said, and held out his hand.

"I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione. I'll let you get back to your book now," Geoffrey said with a last smile. He went over to a desk.

Hermione found herself staring at him and blushed again. _This isn't fourth year_, she told herself sternly. _You don't blush just because some guy is nice to you. _She sat down in a chair that put a stack of books between her and Geoffrey.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry became increasingly nervous as the days slipped by and neither he, Ron, nor Hermione heard anything about Slytherin. Draco told him not to worry about it, that no news was a good thing. Harry tried – Quidditch certainly kept him busy and tired enough that he shouldn't have had the energy to worry, but he did anyway.

"We're doing everything we can, Harry," Hermione had assured him last night. "And don't you go off doing anything rash," she added.

Which was what Harry proceeded to do. Not that he really expected Slytherin to be hanging around the Chamber of Secrets, he told himself as he walked up the road to Hogwarts, but it seemed like a place Slytherin might visit. Check to see if anyone had let his basilisk loose yet.

He had owled ahead to let McGonagall know he was coming, but hadn't told anyone else. He knew that Hermione would want him to take at least ten Aurors with him, and both Ron and Draco would want to come along, but Harry didn't want a troop of people parading down there with him. The Chamber was where he had first met Tom Riddle, where he had almost died. It was all too personal.

It started snowing just before he got to Hogwarts. Harry paused in front of the gates, blinking through the white flakes at the castle looming up in front of him. He hadn't been back in years.

A figure appeared on the front steps and slowly resolved into McGonagall. "Potter, it's good to see you again," she said, letting him in the gates.

"Good to see you, too, Professor," Harry said, shaking her hand.

"I was quite surprised to get your owl. I must say that I hope your suppositions are incorrect and we do not have another Dark wizard on our hands."

"I'll agree with you there."

McGonagall led the way into the castle. "I haven't noticed anything suspicious around Hogwarts lately," she said. "And the wards surrounding the entrance to the Chamber are untouched as far as I can tell."

"I don't really expect to find anything, but I just want to make sure."

McGonagall nodded. "Well, I assume you haven't forgotten your way around Hogwarts. I'll be in my office – the password is Ginger Newt – if you need anything."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"I didn't tell any of the other staff members that you would be here," McGonagall added. "Although I'm sure they would love to see you again." She hesitated. "Perhaps you would join us for dinner?"

"I'll probably be covered in dust and slime after going down there," Harry said, forcing a laugh. He didn't know if he could handle a dinner in the Great Hall.

"Well, think about it," McGonall said. "I am glad to see you again." She smiled and then headed in the direction of the Headmaster's office, leaving Harry standing in the entrance hall.

It was silent in the corridors – the students must all be in class. A thousand memories assaulted him as he began to walk slowly up to the second floor. Strangely, he found that he wasn't really thinking about what he supposed one would term the "big events" of his time at Hogwarts, but all the little things that made up the time in between. Ron biting on his quill while trying to write a difficult Potions essay, and ending up with ink all over his teeth. Hermione fussily straightening Harry's tie as they went down to breakfast. Laughing with Neville at some joke of Seamus's. Kissing Ginny in front of the common room fire. Draco sneering at him from across the Great Hall at dinner. Hating Draco and Draco hating him.

Harry stopped, leaned against the wall. _Why did I come back?_ Hogwarts belonged to the past – to a version of himself that didn't exist anymore. He wanted to turn around and leave. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened the door that still had an Out of Order sign affixed to it.

It looked smaller than he remembered. The sinks that revealed the entrance to the Chamber no longer towered up above him. Harry knelt down, peered at the side of one of the pipes. The small snake was still etched into the metal. He gave an experimental hiss.

"Hello, Harry," a voice whispered in his ear. Harry jumped, startled, and banged his head on the sink.

"Ouch!" He turned around. "Hello, Myrtle."

"I didn't think you were ever coming back," she said with a pout. "I didn't think you cared about me anymore."

"I do," Harry said hastily. "But I don't go to school here now."

Myrtle sniffed loudly. "You could still come and visit."

"I've been busy." Tears welled up in Myrtle's eyes. "But I'm here now, aren't I?" Harry quickly added.

"Yes." Myrtle gave him a suspicious look. "But you were talking snake language just now – I heard you. You're planning to go down into that horrible Chamber again, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "You haven't seen anyone else go down there, have you Myrtle?"

"No. Although I have other things to do than just hang around here all day," she added frostily.

_Like visiting the Prefect's bathroom._ "Well, thanks anyway, Myrtle," Harry said. "I'm just going to get on with this, then."

"Fine! Ignore me," Myrtle sobbed and flew into a stall, slamming the door behind her.

Harry sighed, rubbing his head where he had hit it. He looked at the snake again. "Open up."

The sinks began to move – metal shrieking against stone. The entrance to the Chamber was slowly revealed, and Harry stepped up to the edge, looked down. Pitch black darkness stared back at him. He took out his wand. Myrtle's crying echoed off the walls, a long wail of misery. He jumped.

The ride down was as fast and terrifying as Harry remembered. He tried to anticipate the end of the pipe, but fell anyway, sprawling onto his stomach. "_Lumos_," he cast, and found himself staring into the eye-sockets of an animal's skull. He shuddered and scrambled to his feet.

The bluish white light illuminated a few feet in front of him as he started down the tunnel. He reached the cave-in, which didn't appear to have shifted in the intervening years. He squeezed through the hole Ron had dug – definitely a tighter fit now – coughing from the dust. His breathing sounded harsh in the still air.

He kept walking, resisting the urge to keep looking over his shoulder. When he reached the final doors, the serpents danced in the light from his wand. He hissed into the gloom.

The smell of the dead basilisk hit him as the door opened. It was an overpowering stink of decay, and he swallowed hard, trying not to vomit. The sight was no better when he got close enough to see it. Averting his eyes, he went over to the statue of Slytherin, looked up. The stone face gazed out into the Chamber, immobile, uncommunicative.

"So much for this idea," Harry muttered. As far as he could tell, no one had been here for the past twelve years.

Sliding down to the floor, he leaned back against the statue. He felt exhausted. The sound of dripping water echoed from some slimy corner, hypnotic in the silence. Harry stared at the floor, imagined that he could see the stain of ink that had signaled the demise of part of Voldemort's soul, still ingrained like blood in the stone. A gleam of white that must be the basilisk's fang. How strange that had felt, Harry mused, his eyes closing. Dying. Slipping away from the world…

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Harry watched with horror as the fiery letters rearranged themselves to spell I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. Riddle smirked at him._

"_So this was my heir," a voice said behind him. Harry whirled around, startled. He was sure no one had been here except Riddle and him. And Ginny, lying on the ground._

"_And to think he was a half-blood. How disgusting." A man was standing there. He was dressed in green robes and the hood was up, hiding his face._

"_Who are you?" Harry asked. He looked quickly back at Riddle, but Riddle seemed to be frozen, like a Muggle movie put on pause._

"_Salazar Slytherin." He pushed the hood of his robe back. Dark hair framed the thin, angular face of a young man. _

_A shiver ran up Harry's back. "You really found a way to return then."_

_Slytherin nodded._

"_But this is a dream." Harry looked down at his twelve-year old body._

_Slytherin nodded again. "Powerful places, dreams."_

_Harry glanced up at the wizened statue towering over him, fighting down the fear rising within him. "Weren't you a little older when you died?" _

"_Why settle for age when I can regain my youth?" Slytherin said, and smiled. _

"_What do you want?"_

"_A little background information, to begin with. I've found out what I can about my last living descendant, this Lord Voldemort, but I hear you were quite intimately acquainted with him."_

_Harry clenched his fists, wishing for the wand that Riddle held. "Get out of my head," he growled. _

"_Impressive Parseltongue skills," Slytherin went on, ignoring him. "I can feel the connection between us – centered in that remarkable scar on your forehead."_

_Harry's hand flew up to his scar. It didn't hurt, not like when Voldemort had been near him. _

"_I can feel your power, too, Harry. Your magic." Slytherin's voice caressed the last word in an almost obscene way. _

"_Go away."_

"_Not just yet. I'm quite interested in the dramatic scene being carried out here." Slytherin gestured toward the frozen tableau behind them. "It wouldn't do to leave before the denouement." _

_Harry felt himself being turned around. Riddle was speaking again. He wanted to stop, wanted to wake up. But he couldn't. It was like being a spectator in his own mind. His body kept moving, words kept coming out of his mouth – the same words he had uttered to Riddle twelve years ago. _

_The basilisk rose from the dead. Fawkes let out a shrill cry. Gryffindor's sword appeared in the Sorting Hat. The poison flooded through Harry's body. He stabbed the fang into the diary. He moved toward Ginny, and the world ground to a halt again._

_Slytherin was clapping. "Very impressive, Harry. Godric would have been so pleased to know that his sword put an end to my pet. He was always such a horrible bore about those sorts of things."_

"_Fuck you," Harry managed to gasp out._

_Slytherin laughed. "Unfortunately, I have to go now. But I promise you, Harry that we will do this again very shortly."_

Harry jerked awake, breathing hard, sweat pouring off of him. He tried to stand, but fell forward onto his knees. His stomach heaved, and he threw up. Trembling, he lay on the cold stone, wishing that Draco was there.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

**Author's Notes: **All my information on Dragon Hill, the White Horse, and Uffington comes from the internet, and I do not claim that it is entirely accurate. Although the legends about them which I will be using in my story do exist, I will be mixing and changing them to fit my plot.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"You look terrible, mate," Ron said, looking up as Harry walked into his office.

"Rough practice." That was true, they had been training hard for their upcoming match against the Harpies, but it wasn't the whole truth. Harry hadn't been sleeping well since visiting the Chamber of Secrets. Last night he had relived finding the Philosopher's Stone, and although Slytherin hadn't made his presence known in Harry's dream, that didn't mean he hadn't been there. "Any news on Slytherin?" he asked Ron hopefully.

Ron shook his head. "Sorry, but I've turned up nothing. I've been stuck with this Ives case and it's driving me mad. Two witnesses saw him go out of a bar – alone. Another witness saw him a few minutes before he died – again, alone. And then he just collapsed for no apparent reason. I'm almost positive Nott knows something about it, but he has a solid alibi." Ron shook his head. "Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear about work stuff. What brings you down here?"

"I'm trying to figure out what to get Draco for Christmas," Harry replied, trying not to blush. "And I thought you could help."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Remember when you told me about Slytherin's book? You said that the Aurors had taken a bunch of stuff from Malfoy Manor – that a lot of it wasn't even connected to the Dark Arts. What did they do with all of that?"

Ron shrugged. "It's probably sitting in the basement."

Harry leaned forward. "Do you think I could take it? Just the harmless stuff, of course. It's useless to the Ministry, but I think it would mean a lot to Draco if he got it back."

"I don't know." Ron shifted in his chair. "Robards won't like it."

"Please, Ron? All he has is one picture of his parents."

Ron relented. "Okay, fine. We'll go down, see what they've done with it. Let me just check on which room it's being held in."

They got into the lift a few minutes later, and Ron punched the button for the storage areas located in the basement of the Ministry. "So you're planning on coming over to the Burrow on Christmas?" Ron asked him.

Harry shot him a quick glance. "Yeah, we are – if that's okay."

Ron hesitated for a spit second, grinned. "It's fine. We better keep Draco away from Fred and George, though. You know how they love unsuspecting victims."

"Right." Harry smiled back. "I definitely don't want to spend Christmas with a canary or a Draco with purple spots."

The lift stopped and Ron led the way down a passage, opened one of the many doors leading off the hallway. "It should be in here," he said.

There were boxes piled around, all labeled. Most of them said things like **DANGER **and **RESTRICTED **and carried routing numbers for different departments. In one corner, though, were three unmarked boxes. One was open, and Harry could see a jumble of items inside. "This must be it," he said, walking over.

"Looks like," Ron agreed.

Harry pulled out a chipped plate with flowers painted on the edges. Would this stuff have any significance at all for Draco? He ran his thumb over the broken edge and remembered a keychain with a cheap plastic prism attached to it that he had found on the sidewalk when he was little. He had treasured it, hidden it from Dudley. "I'm taking these," he said.

Ron nodded silently.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Here again, are you?"

Hermione looked up into the smiling face of Geoffrey. "Oh, yes," she replied distractedly, her mind still focused on the book she had been reading. She had looked over the portal spell a hundred times – checked and re-checked it – read every book on the afterlife in the library. She must have missed something, there had to be a reason why there was no sign of Slytherin, but she hadn't been able to come up with anything.

"You can check these out, you know. Take them home to read."

"I know." Hermione thought of the chilly atmosphere which had pervaded home lately. "I like it here."

Geoffrey sat down next to her. "So what do you do, Hermione? Besides read books?"

"I'm a Healer at St. Mungo's," she replied. "I work on experimental healing techniques…" Hermione paused, but Geoffrey nodded encouragingly, so she went on to tell him about the various potions and spells she was working on. Usually when Hermione discussed her work with people (Ron, for example) they got a glazed look in their eyes after a few minutes and quickly lost interest. Geoffrey, though, listened attentively, even asking the occasional question.

"Impressive," Geoffrey said as she wound down. "You must have been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts."

"Gryffindor, actually. How about you? Which house were you in?"

"I wasn't a student at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I didn't realise you weren't from England."

"No, I am. I just had a more…unorthodox magical education."

"Really?" Hermione leaned forward. "I've read about systems of apprenticeship, but I thought those weren't practiced anymore."

"Sometimes they are." Geoffrey smiled. "Actually, I've done most of my study independently. That's why I'm spending so much time here in the library."

Hermione smiled back. "Well, I can certainly understand that. Not that I didn't love Hogwarts, but I did feel that sometimes not enough attention was given to allowing students to progress beyond the limits of classroom studies."

"I agree."

"So, I've told you all about my projects. What are you working on?"

Geoffrey hesitated. "I'm doing a research paper for a university on some topics in ancient history. I don't want to go into too many details – I'm still in the planning phase." Hermione nodded. She was exactly the same way, not wanting to divulge anything until she was sure she had it right. "But don't worry," Geoffrey went on, "once I've figured out exactly what I'm doing, you'll be one of the first to know."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Fiiiive gooool-den riiiings!" Draco flung his arms wide as he sung the words loudly up at the night sky.

"Enough, enough," Harry said, laughing. He stumbled over to Draco, flung his arms around him. "I knew you would be bad, but I didn't know _how _bad."

Draco pushed him off. "Four calling birds, three French – what was it again?"

"Hens. Three French hens. Now come inside. It's freezing out here."

Their feet crunched through the snow as they walked up to the door. Harry missed the first step and practically went over head first into a snow pile, but Draco grabbed him around the waist.

Stumbling into the house, Harry felt Draco tugging on his jacket, pressing kisses against his neck. They tried to sit down on the couch, but missed, sliding onto the floor in a heap instead. "Sing 'O Holy Night' for me, Harry," Draco murmured, struggling with the buttons of Harry's shirt. "You're so fucking hot when you sing that song."

"Can't sing now," Harry gasped, rolling Draco over onto his back and kissing him. Draco moaned under him, and coherent thought fled.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco woke up to the harsh light of morning and a hangover. He slowly opened one eye. Harry was resting his head on Draco's chest, but his eyes were open. He grinned when he saw that Draco was awake. "Merry Christmas, love."

Draco groaned. "How much alcohol did you give me last night?"

"Well, it took half a bottle just to get you out the door. You were a smashing hit with the neighbors, though."

Draco groaned again. Harry leaned over and picked up a glass from the bedside table, pushed it into Draco's hand. "Hangover potion."

The stuff tasted awful, but Draco gulped it all down. Slowly, he began to feel like he might live past breakfast.

"Do you want to open your presents now?" Harry asked.

"You do, obviously."

"It's Christmas," Harry replied, kissing him on the nose. Draco sighed, but allowed Harry to pull him from the bed.

Harry waved the tree lights on with his wand when they went into the other room. Draco knew that most of the presents under the tree were for Harry – from his friends, Lupin, and assorted admirers. Granger had sent Draco a present, too, though. A book, by the feel of it. But now a large, brightly wrapped box had been added to the pile. "This is for you," Harry said, pushing it towards Draco.

Bemused, Draco began untying the ribbon. Harry sat down, staring intently at him with an excited, but slightly nervous expression on his face. Draco opened the lid, wondering what on earth Harry had gotten for him.

The first thing he pulled out was his mother's hairbrush. He had a blinding memory of her dressed in a ball gown, the heavy scent of perfume filling the room, pulling the brush through her long hair. "Oh…" His fingers trembled, and a tear slipped down his cheek.

Harry was next to him in an instant, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sorry. If you don't want them – "

"No, I do. I do. It's just…"

Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder. "I wanted you to have more than just a picture," he murmured. Draco pulled him into a fierce hug.

"My present for you is nothing like this," Draco said.

"What is it?" Harry asked eagerly.

Draco pulled out a flat present and handed it to him.

"Is this a book?" Harry asked. "You're not turning into Hermione, are you?"

Draco hit him on the arm. "Just open it."

Harry ripped back the paper. It was a book – "_Ulric the Unflinching's Guide to Dueling_?"

"Since you were so abysmal the last time."

Harry gave him a look. "The last time _you _were the one who cheated."

"Exactly. Ulric includes an entire chapter about hitting your opponent when their back is turned and the unethical, but extremely useful, practice of wand switching."

"Trying to corrupt me?" Harry said with a grin.

Draco kissed him. "Perhaps."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione set the plate of Christmas cookies she had brought next to the numerous pies and puddings already decorating the sideboard. George sneaked a hand around her, grabbing one and popping it into his mouth. "They're charmed to make you grow antlers," Hermione said in a sweet tone.

George choked, spraying crumbs over his shirt.

"Just joking." Hermione patted him on the back.

"Got you there, George," Fred said, grinning. "Not a bad idea, though, Hermione. Might have to look into it for next Christmas."

The radio was cheerfully playing Christmas carols in a corner. The doorbell rang. "Can someone get that?" Mrs. Weasley shouted from the direction of the kitchen.

Hermione stepped over to the door, opened it. Ginny was standing there, bundled up in a red and green scarf, her hand tucked through the arm of a young man who was smiling bashfully. "You must be Martin," Hermione said, ushering them inside.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking her hand.

"Ginny! Merry Christmas!" Ginny and Martin were pulled into the throng in the living room. Hermione poured herself a cup of hot wassail and went to sit next to Ron. They had come to a silent agreement to forget about their fight for the duration of the holiday. Although unspoken words still hovered between them, Hermione was happy to settle back with Ron's arm around her shoulders.

A pleasant hum of chatter filled the room. Fleur was reciting the names of her cousins to Charlie and trying to convince him to take one out on a date. Percy was reading the _Daily Prophet_ in the corner, a righteous expression on his face, while the twins could be heard tormenting Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. Ginny was talking quietly to Martin in front of the fireplace, her hand entwined with his. The doorbell rang again. "I'll get it," Hermione started to say, leaping up, but Ginny got there first.

Harry stood outside on the threshold. His arm was around Draco. He looked nervous, but determined. Draco was holding a poinsettia and looked like he would rather be anywhere but the Burrow.

"Harry, dear, is that you?" Mrs. Weasley called, and then she appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well let them in, Ginny, for heaven's sake. You're letting in all the cold air." She went right to Harry and gave him a hug. "It's so wonderful to see you, Harry."

"You too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, hugging her back.

Mrs. Weasley finally let Harry go and turned towards Draco, who appeared to be seriously considering bolting back out the door. Mrs. Weasley hesitated, but then smiled. "What a lovely plant," she said, taking the poinsettia from Draco. "How thoughtful of you."

Mr. Weasley had stepped up next to her. "Good to see you, Harry." He shook Harry's hand. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, holding out his hand to Draco.

"You look cold, dear," Mrs. Weasley said to Draco. "Can I get you something hot to drink?"

"Uh, no, I'm fine," Draco said, looking surprised.

"All right, but I want your first Christmas with us to be a lovely one, so just tell me if there's anything you need."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, steering a stunned Draco further into the room.

Hermione went up to them. "Thanks for _Quidditch Through the Ages_, Harry. Ron thought you'd gotten our packages mixed up."

"She's read the whole thing already, of course," Ron put in, grinning.

Hermione saw that Ginny was standing over by the window, staring outside, so she beckoned Martin over. "Harry, Draco, this is Martin. He works as a photographer at the _Daily Prophet_."

Harry grinned, shaking his hand. Draco managed a polite smile. Martin blushed and stammered out a Merry Christmas, clearly overwhelmed at meeting _Harry Potter_.

"The whole gang has arrived now, Mum," Fred said. "Can we _please _eat? She kept threatening to hex us if we touched anything before you got here," he muttered to Harry.

"It's only polite, Fred," Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

"I can't be polite when I'm starving, Mum!"

"Oh, really," Mrs. Weasley huffed, but she smiled and waved her wand. Steaming platters and bowls began drifting in from the kitchen to settle on the long table that had been set up in the living room.

Hermione took a seat beside Draco, who looked pale. "You're doing fine," Hermione whispered to him.

Mrs. Weasley was heaping food onto Harry's plate. "I'm glad to see that you're looking well fed and healthy for once, Harry," she said, giving Draco a warm look. Clearly Mrs. Weasley could find it in her heart to love anyone who took away the perpetually underfed and worried manner that had plagued Harry for so long. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you to eat plenty while you're here."

"Fine by me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. "See, I told you it was delicious," he added to Draco, who nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full. Mrs. Weasley blushed with pleasure.

Percy, sitting across from them, immediately engaged Draco in a conversation about Gringotts – asking about various assistant managers, and then smugly letting it slip that he had met them at some political affair or other. Harry ruthlessly left Draco to his fate and began talking dragons with Charlie.

Ginny, though – Hermione suppressed a sigh. She was toying with the food on her plate and kept shooting glances at Draco and Harry. Luckily, Fred and George were discussing some new Wizard Wheeze that involved photography with Martin, and he hadn't noticed.

Dinner broke up into a snowball fight outside. It was exhilarating out in the cold air, shrieking and laughing. Hermione aimed a careful throw at Charlie, catching him in the ear, only to be showered with cold snow herself and hear a triumphant shout from Fred. Harry had cajoled Draco to join them, and slowly he got into the spirit of the thing, too, especially when Harry thrust a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. Draco gave an outraged shout and seconds later had Harry down on the ground in a headlock. "You're supposed to be throwing snow at the other team," Ron shouted, dragging them apart.

They went back inside for dessert, and sat around reminiscing about past Christmases.

"Flitwick always did the best decorations, of course," Bill was saying.

"Didn't he charm the suits of armor to sing one year?"

"And Peeves hid in them, filling in the blanks with bawdy lyrics."

"And the ghosts would go caroling in the middle of the night. Creepy that."

Both Draco and Harry blushed at the mention of caroling. Hermione decided she didn't want to know why.

"I wonder how Nick is doing?" Harry said, but Hermione noticed that he had a very thoughtful look on his face. She caught his eye, and he motioned to her to come into the kitchen with him.

"What is it?" she asked, after closing the door behind them.

"Slytherin, what else?" Harry said ruefully. "It was the mention of ghosts that got me thinking. Ghosts can't do magic, right? Even though they were once wizards or witches? What if the reason we haven't seen any sign of Slytherin is because he can't do magic either?"

Hermione considered. "From what I've read about ghosts, they sacrificed their true selves – which would include their magic – to stay in this world. It would make sense that Slytherin would have to do something of the same sort."

"Although," Harry went on, frowning, "if that's the case, why would he bother to come back in the first place? If he couldn't use his magic?"

Hermione seated herself on the counter. "Well, we know he isn't actually a ghost, even if the basic principle is the same. He is corporeal. Maybe bringing his body through was all he could manage this first time – "

"But there's a way for him to bring his magic back, too," Harry finished.

The door opened and Draco appeared, followed closely by Ron. "What are you two doing hiding in here?" Ron asked.

"We've been talking about Slytherin," Hermione said.

"At least the fact that you two are always off hunting Dark wizards means Draco and I will never have to worry you might be having an affair." Ron chortled.

"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione said, but she couldn't help giggling, too.

Harry smiled, but then his expression turned serious again. "We think Slytherin might not have any magical powers – that's why he hasn't done anything," he explained.

Draco frowned. "And yet I get the feeling this is not entirely a good thing."

"Well, he must know of a way to _get _his magic," Hermione said. "Otherwise there would be no point."

"If we can find out how he's going to do it, we could stop him, right?" Ron asked.

"You'd think," Harry said. "Of course that's what I thought before, but he was already a step ahead of us," he added bitterly.

"Plus there's the small problem of actually figuring out what he's planning," Draco said.

A glum silence settled on them for a few moments. "I think we should go back to Uffington," Hermione finally said. "See if there's anything there that we missed. Don't you think, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Ron, I know you've been trying, but if there's any sources at the Ministry that you haven't contacted, anything at all…"

"Yeah, I'll try. Maybe I should spring it on Nott at our next little conference. It might shock him out of that bloody smug attitude."

"Nott?" Draco said sharply.

"Possible connection to a murder," Ron explained. "You wouldn't happen to know what he's been up to since Hogwarts, would you? I know he was in your House."

Draco looked at Harry, shook his head. "No. I don't know."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Christmas slowly wound down – Sophie had fallen asleep in Bill's arms, still clutching a new toy she had gotten. Hermione went to the bedroom to get her and Ron's cloaks, but stopped in the hallway when she heard voices.

"Is it because Draco's a guy or because he's a Malfoy?" Harry was saying in a cold tone.

"Neither," Ginny answered, her voice choked with tears.

"Then what? What is it?"

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, that's what."

Harry was silent for a few moments. "I never even used to imagine a future for myself," he finally said. "Even after Voldemort was gone. But then I met Draco and now – now I have one. I have a future with him. What we had was wonderful, Ginny, but it didn't work out."

"It could have."

"Maybe." Harry paused. "But then I would have lost Draco. Ginny, without him, I –"

Hermione leapt back as the door burst open and Ginny stormed out. Harry appeared a few seconds later, but neither noticed Hermione, standing in a shadowed corner. Feeling guilty for listening, she quickly put on her cloak and took Ron's out to him. An icy silence settled over them again as they left the Burrow behind, Christmas lights twinkling against the snow.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

One of the best things about holidays was the large amount of leftovers, Ron decided. He settled back in his chair, turkey sandwich in hand, and ignored the stack of paperwork he was supposed to be finishing. It had been great to be at the Burrow, but difficult, too. Every time he saw Sophie with Bill and Fleur, he would feel a surge of jealousy. Then he would look at Hermione, who would promptly look away. It was becoming harder and harder to break their routine of silence and ignoring each other. And now he was becoming scared of what would happen if they did. What if when they started talking about it, they found they _didn't _have a future together? That maybe they shouldn't have rushed to get married so soon after Hogwarts? Just thinking about it made Ron feel sick.

So it wasn't really his fault that he lost his temper when, a few days after New Years, he met Hermione coming out of a café in Diagon Alley with another guy. Oh wait, that's right, a _friend._

_Hermione stopped short when she saw him. "Ron. Hi. This is Geoffrey." Geoffrey extended his hand, a warm smile on his face._

_Ron returned the handshake, gripping perhaps a bit tighter than necessary. "Ron Weasley. I'm Hermione's husband. And an Auror." _

"_Glad to meet you," Geoffrey said. "Well, I'm afraid I have to get going. See you soon, Hermione."_

_Wait a second. See you soon? "So, is this a regular thing with you and Geoffrey?" he growled as the prat walked off down the street. _

_Hermione rolled her eyes. "No. We see each other in the library a lot and today he asked me if I wanted to grab a bite to eat."_

"_And you agreed."_

"_Yes. What, am I not allowed to have any male friends besides Harry?"_

"_Of course you are, but –"_

"_Because that's all Geoffrey is – a friend."_

"_Then why didn't you tell me about him before?"_

"_I haven't known him that long, Ron, and – " Hermione stopped, shook her head. "I don't need to explain myself to you. I have to get back to work."_

"Weasley. Weasley!"

Ron jolted out of his reverie to find Robards glaring down at him. "Sir?"

"There's been another murder."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

It was exactly like Eric Ives. No marks on the body, no sign of a spell – nothing. This time, the victim was a witch named Nora Banks. She had been a year younger than him, and had been in Ravenclaw. There was no record of prior arrests. Ron could already see another dead end approaching when he read that she had worked for Gladrags, and one of her coworkers was Pansy Parkinson. He flooed directly to the store.

"We were friends," Pansy confirmed, bending down to stick some pins into the hem of a robe which was draped over a mannequin. "Went to the cinema, shopping."

"Can you think of any enemies she might have had? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

Pansy shook her head, staring at the mannequin with a critical eye.

"Did she have other friends? A boyfriend?"

"She was seeing Theodore Nott the last I heard."

Bingo. "Nott, huh?"

"Yep. I told her he was good for nothing, but she ignored me."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, agreeing silently, but fervently, with Pansy's assessment.

Pansy turned to face him. "Do you think I'm stupid, Weasley?" she asked, jabbing a pin in his direction. Ron took a few prudent steps back. "Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, they all got caught up in it and look where it got them. Thankfully my parents weren't too deeply involved, and as long as I distance myself from them, the Ministry leaves me alone. I have a job, a home, a nice boyfriend. Do you think I'm going to screw that up? Nott, though, he wants to start the whole thing up again. When I got his letter, I sent him back a short, but succinct reply along the lines of 'Fuck you.'"

"Letter?"

"Yeah. Asking me if I wanted to join in some project of his. I wasn't the only one he contacted, either. Marcus, Montague, Draco – he wrote to all of them, too."

"Malfoy? You sure?"

"Yes." Pansy sneered at him. "But Draco is Potter's little slut now, isn't he? No way would he join Nott."

"Keep your filthy mouth shut," Ron growled. "You don't know the first thing about it."

Pansy's eyes flashed, but she turned her attention back to the robe, sticking in another pin. "Anyway, that's all there is. I told Nora she should leave Nott alone, but she didn't."

Ron restrained himself from uttering a few choice, but un-professional comments. "I'll send you an owl if I have further questions," he told her. Pansy ignored him. _The joys of dealing with old classmates. _

Ron decided to walk back to the Ministry to give himself a chance to think. If he went and saw Nott now, Ron knew he would just be given some bullshit story. Nott would pretend to be all broken up about Nora, and he would probably have another perfect alibi, too. What he needed was someone who could match the devious bastard lie for lie. Someone who was used to underhanded trickery. In short, Draco. If Pansy was right, and Nott had sent Draco a letter, too, it would give him the perfect opening to get close to Nott. Ron would just have to swallow his pride and ask Draco for help.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Practice let out early that day, and Harry couldn't resist the lure of a nap when he got home. He hadn't had another dream about Slytherin since before Christmas, and he was beginning to think that maybe they had just been brought on by the stress of visiting the Chamber of Secrets. Wrong again, as it turned out.

_He was standing in front of the Goblet of Fire, telling Cedric to take it. _Please no, Harry thought desperately, not this one.

"_I'm afraid I must insist." He turned to see Slytherin standing behind him. Unwillingly, he was forced back around to face the Goblet. He and Cedric reached for the handles… _

_Slytherin froze the dream when Harry reappeared back in the stadium with Cedric's body. Harry was trembling – the pain from the Cruciatus and the cut on his arm, the guilt over Cedric. "What do you want?" he managed to gasp. "Why did you come back?"_

_Slytherin stepped closer to where Harry was sprawled on the ground. "I was cheated the last time," he said. "Godric, Rowena, Helga – they all thought they knew what was best for the world. They wouldn't listen to me. No one would listen to me. And look where it's gotten you." He shook his head. "A self-righteous Ministry ruling everyone. Half-bloods and Muggleborns running loose. I've seen the way pure-bloods are treated."_

_An image appeared in the air. Draco – right after Harry had met him again – trying to claw the Dark Mark from his skin._

"_Poor boy," Slytherin murmured. "He should have had a strong leader to follow – not this insane despot that I've seen in your mind. Proof of what breeding with Muggles can produce."_

"_Leave Draco out of this," Harry growled, struggling to get up. _

"_How much you love him," Slytherin said in a mocking tone. "You, a filthy half-blood. It's disgusting to see the way he looks at you."_

_Another image – Draco leaning down to kiss Harry gently on the lips. "You have no right to see that!" Harry cried. "Leave us alone!"_

_Slytherin laughed. "I am needed in this world, Harry. Pure-bloods, like your darling Draco, need help before they become utterly degraded. And who better to help than me? My new powers –"_

"_You don't have any," Harry broke in. "You couldn't bring your magic back with you."_

_Slytherin paused. "Very clever. I knew you were smart, powerful. Ah, yes, powerful." He knelt next to Harry. Harry desperately wanted to move, to run, but he was frozen. _

"_I can taste your power," Slytherin said, trailing his fingers over Harry's cheek. "I need magic. I can feel my own calling to me all the time and I must have another's to sustain me until we can be rejoined. I used up my latest source, you know," Slytherin went on, bending closer. "But you, Harry. With your power, you will last me a long time – until I regain my own magic." _

_Slytherin hissed and gripped Harry's arms, pinioning them to the side of his body. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Harry's. It was horrible – his teeth bit into Harry's lips, and he could taste blood. Slytherin was sucking the air from his lungs. Harry struggled, but couldn't break free. His vision was dimming, his heartbeat sounding loud and frantic in his ears…_

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Harry started awake, pale and sweating, to find Draco shaking him.

"Are you all right?"

Harry shook his head.

Draco pulled him close. "It was only a dream. You're fine now."

Harry tried to slow his breathing while Draco rubbed the back of his neck. What in the hell had Slytherin done? He put trembling fingers up to his mouth, but they came away clean. No sign of blood.

"Harry?"

He relaxed back in Draco's arms, twisted around so his face was pressed against Draco's shoulder.

"Do you want anything?" Draco asked. "Tea? Something to eat?"

Harry shuddered, remembering the feeling of Slytherin's mouth pressed against his own. "Maybe just some water."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

Draco went into the kitchen. Harry remained on the couch, shivering. The sun had set and it was cold in the room. Harry picked up his wand to light the fire. He cast the spell. Nothing happened. Frowning, he tried again. This time, the fire flared up, but he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Odd. He must still be feeling a little shaken up from the dream.

Draco brought him a glass of water and watched carefully while Harry drank it. Harry really didn't want to talk about the dreams right then. "The game will be starting soon," he said. The Wasps were playing the Magpies tonight, and Harry knew that Oliver would want to go into blow-by-blow detail tomorrow. The Magpies were their next match, coming up the second week of February.

"Oh, right," Draco said, frowning a little, but he leaned over and switched on the radio. Harry could feel Draco's eyes still on him, but he pretended to be focused on what the announcer was saying. _You will last me a long time_. Harry dug his fingers into the couch under the cover of a cushion. It was just a stupid dream.

A little past six there was a knock on the door. It was Ron, holding several Butterbeers. "Mind if I listen to the game with you guys?" he asked. "Hermione's writing up some report for work and got a bit shirty with me when I turned on the radio."

"Not at all," Harry said, motioning Ron to a chair. "I thought we were converting her into a Quidditch fan."

"Still have a ways to go mate," Ron said with a sigh. "You know nothing comes between her and work." He sounded a bit bitter. Harry didn't enquire further, not feeling up to getting into a Ron and Hermione argument just then.

By the time the match was over, with the Magpies winning, Harry thought he had picked out several weaknesses in their Seeker. A tendency to fly high a lot of the time. A slight reluctance to move close to the goal hoops where all the Bludgers were zooming around.

"Hermione wanted to know when would be a good time for you and her to go back to Uffington," Ron was saying.

Harry forced his attention away from imagining new Quidditch moves in his head. "Uh, probably next Tuesday."

Ron nodded. He tossed his Butterbeer cap in the air a few times, and then turned abruptly towards Draco. "I was wondering if you would be willing to give me some help."

"Help?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Yeah." Ron looked down at the Butterbeer cap he was holding, shook his head, and tossed it onto the table. "Another dead body has turned up – Nora, her name was. Turns out she was Nott's girlfriend."

Ron paused, but Draco said nothing.

"Anyway, I know you got that letter –"

"Wait a second," Harry said, interrupting. "What letter?"

"The one Nott sent," Ron said, frowning. "You said that you didn't know what he was up to, but I was thinking –"

"Hold on," Harry broke in. "Draco, what's all this about?"

Draco avoided Harry's gaze, slumping down in his chair. "Can we talk about his later, Weasley?" he muttered.

"But –" Ron paused. "Oh. You didn't tell him about it, did you?"

"Tell me about what?" Harry asked, feeling increasingly frustrated.

Ron looked from one of them to the other, taking in Harry's darkening expression and Draco's frosty silence. "Uh…I'll let Draco explain," Ron said hastily. "I should really get going."

Ron practically sprinted to the door, closing it quickly behind him. Harry stood up, switched off the radio. "Want to tell me what's going on?" he said into the silence.

"Not especially," Draco muttered. He looked up at Harry, sighed. "Nott sent me a letter. Asked if I wanted to be involved in some project of his. Mentioned my past as a Death Eater."

"And you received this when?"

Draco looked at the floor. "November."

Harry fought down the hurt and anger that was rising in him, tried to keep his voice calm. "Were you planning on ever telling me about it?"

"I – " Draco stopped.

"Well that really makes me feel wonderful. You get invited back to join a little Dark Arts club, and Ron knows about it before I do!"

"I didn't answer Nott," Draco said quickly. "I didn't say yes."

Harry stared at him for a few moments. "But you thought about it, didn't you?"

Draco's silence was answer enough.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

When Ron got into work the next day there was an owl waiting for him, a scrap of parchment tied to its leg.

_Meet me outside Gringotts at 1:00. D. Malfoy._

Ron knew there must have been a nasty scene back at Godric's Hollow after he had left last night. Draco was probably planning on cursing him and wouldn't be at all interested in listening to Ron's idea that he go spy on Nott. Ron glanced at the clock. Two hours in which to come up with a convincing argument.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco was slumped against a marble pillar when Ron arrived. "You're late," he snapped.

"Sorry – busy morning."

Draco pulled his cloak more closely around him. "Know somewhere private where we can talk?"

"Follow me," Ron said, keeping a wary eye on Draco's wand hand.

He led the way to a dingy tavern – The Hanging Bat – which was more secluded and private than the Leaky Cauldron. They sat down in a shadowed booth, and Ron cleared his throat. "So…"

"You just had to ask about that damn letter, didn't you?" Draco slammed his fist on the table. "Couldn't keep out of other people's business?"

"Hey – it isn't my fault you didn't tell Harry about it."

"Merlin, don't talk to me about Harry. I had to sleep on the bloody couch last night," Draco said with a sullen look.

"You should have known Harry would go completely mental about something like this," Ron couldn't resist saying.

"Thanks for the _advice,_" Draco sneered. "Why did you bring it up in the first place?"

"Oh. Well." Ron took a fortifying swallow from his drink. "See, I'm having some trouble figuring out what Nott is up to, if he's connected to these murders. I thought that since he had asked you to help him, that maybe you could pretend to go along with him for awhile, see if you can find out what's going on."

"Absolutely not."

"But – "

"I'm not a spy," Draco spat. "I'm not going to do your dirty work for you."

"It wouldn't be like that. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal, just talk to Nott, that's all."

"No."

"What if he is a murderer? More people will die if we don't stop him."

Draco shook his head, but something flickered in his expression. Ron forged ahead.

"We can't even figure out how these people died, so there's a good chance Nott has found some new spell or weapon. Two people are already dead – we need to stop him now."

Draco was silent for a few moments. "Fuck this," he finally muttered. "I always thought your side had all these wonderful, pure emotions going for you – courage, empathy, charity – but now I know what it really was – guilt, that's what."

Ron grinned. "Welcome to the Light."

Draco scowled. "I can't promise anything," he said. "I got the letter back in November. Nott will be suspicious that it took me this long to respond."

"You're smart. You'll figure out a good story."

"This is a one-shot thing, though, got that?" Draco said. "I'm not going to be at your beck and call every time you can't manage your own undercover work."

"I can manage just fine –" Ron started to say heatedly, but stopped himself. Getting into an argument was not going to help matters. He needed Draco's help and would just have to put up with him. "So what do you think about Nott?" he asked instead. "Do you think there's a chance he's involved with these murders?"

Draco shrugged. "Hard to say. Nott was always a loner at Hogwarts, but he was smart, ambitious. That's why I don't buy for one minute what he wrote in that letter of his – the part where he asked me to be the leader of this project. Whatever he's up to, it will be to his benefit first. Whether murder is playing a part, well, I guess I won't know until I go talk to him."

Ron nodded. "How soon do you think you can set up a meeting?"

"Hold on," Draco said. "Before we rush into this, there's the little matter of me walking into a potentially hazardous situation. Alone."

"Well, if you want some protection, I could probably arrange to have a team of Aurors standing by."

Draco gave him a condescending look. "Still not too bright, are you?"

Ron made himself count to ten. "Do you want the Aurors or not?"

"Every Auror that I've met, with the exception of you and Harry, would be more likely to help kill me than protect me. No, I already know who I want along for back-up." Draco smiled, not too pleasantly, either. "And I'm sure you'll be able to ensure that he is available."

Ron gave him a suspicious look. "And just who is this person?"

"Gregory Goyle."

"Goyle? No way. He's a convicted Death Eater, just like – "

"Just like me," Draco finished in a low voice.

"Look – I don't even know where he is. The Ministry put him in the same program that you were in – they're not going to release him. Especially not to go wandering around with you and Theodore Nott!"

"You're smart," Draco said in a mocking tone. "You'll figure something out. Because that's the deal – I won't go see Nott unless I have Goyle with me."

"But Goyle would be useless! He can't even protect himself, let alone you if there was trouble."

Draco leaned across the table, his eyes narrowed. "Goyle is my friend. I trust him. That's more important than being able to cast two hundred plus hexes."

Ron opened his mouth, closed it. Damn. Figured that Malfoy would get all wise and high-minded at the worst possible moment. "I'll see what I can do," he muttered.

"Then we have a deal," Draco said, extending his hand.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry arrived a few minutes early on Tuesday at the car park by Dragon Hill, which was where he and Hermione had agreed to meet. He watched grey clouds race across the sky, chasing the pale winter sun. The past week had not been good, to put it mildly. He was still furious that Draco hadn't told him about that letter. There was such a thing as trust. And then last night – Harry winced at the memory.

"_I've agreed to help spy on Nott," Draco had announced. "Just in case he's involved in these murders. I'm going to have to pretend to go along with him and I – I thought you should know." He gave Harry a pleading look._

"_That's convenient," Harry said coldly. "Are you sure it will just be pretend?"_

He'd regretted it the minute he said it, but Draco had stormed out of the room before he could take it back.

He hadn't been feeling too well, either. He kept getting weak and nauseous, and his flying was off. His Firebolt wasn't responding to him like it normally did.

There was a crack, and Hermione appeared. She was breathing hard and looked upset. "You okay?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, carefully smoothing down her hair. "Ready for some investigating? I thought we should probably check back on the Hill first, in case we missed anything."

Harry agreed, and they Apparated to the top of Dragon Hill. A wave of dizziness swept over him when he arrived, and he stumbled a little. Hermione put out her hand to steady him. "Do you feel that same prickling sensation that you did last time?" she asked.

Harry concentrated for a moment. "No. I don't feel anything."

"The magical residue from the portal spell has probably faded by now," Hermione said, looking disappointed.

The top of the Hill was flat and empty. There was nothing except grass and a few rocks. "I don't think we're going to find anything here," Harry said after a few minutes of staring around.

Hermione made a frustrated noise. "I just can't think of any thing else to do."

Harry nodded glumly. "Well, want to go down into Uffington and have some lunch? At least then the afternoon won't be a total waste."

"Okay," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "Do you mind walking? The weather is so nice today."

They walked slowly, not saying much. Harry was thinking about Draco. Guilt over what he had said and the sense of betrayal that Draco hadn't trusted him were warring together in his mind. He had just made up his mind that he had been perfectly justified in getting angry and didn't need to apologize, when Hermione made a small noise next to him. He stifled a sigh and looked over, expecting her to ask him why he was so quiet. Instead, he was met with the sight of Hermione crying.

"Hermione! What is it? What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's just – " Hermione's lip trembled. "It's Ron."

"Ron? What do you mean? What has he done?" Harry guided Hermione over to a low stone wall and sat down with her.

"It's not only Ron, it's me, too. Oh, it's just so awful, Harry!" Hermione burst into sobs.

Harry put his arm around her shoulders, hugged her to him. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

Hermione wiped at her eyes, and Harry handed her his handkerchief. "Thank you, Harry. It's just so embarrassing and painful to talk about it."

"You can tell me, whatever it is."

Hermione was silent for a few moments, then burst out, "It's this fight Ron and I have been having. We've hardly been talking to each other since before Christmas." She stifled a sob. "You know how it is. Like sixth year when we could never face each other, but just ran around making the other one more upset."

Harry winced, remembering the whole "Lav Lav" episode. "And what started this one off?"

Hermione sighed. "Every time we go to the Burrow, Ron wants to talk about our future afterwards. He gets upset by how much I'm working. And then – " Hermione took a deep breath. "He tells me that he wants to have kids."

Harry blinked. Kids? Ron? "I didn't know that was so important to him," Harry admitted.

"Well it is apparently," Hermione said, sniffing.

"And what about you? How do you feel about it?"

Hermione stared at the ground. "I don't know, Harry," she said at last. "I think I'm…scared by the idea. Growing up as an only child – I never had much to do with children. I don't know what kind of mother I would be."

Harry thought about his own limited experience and tried to picture himself raising a kid. "I understand," he said quickly. "Although if you did have a baby, I know you would love it. And that's the most important thing," he added, remembering his own childhood with the Dursleys.

"You're right, you're right. But – I can't help thinking about my career, too. The things that I want to do, all that I still want to learn. And then I feel horribly selfish. I'm just afraid Ron won't want to be with me anymore if I say no."

"Ron wouldn't know what to do with himself if you weren't around, Hermione," Harry said gently. "Have you told him what you just told me?"

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "We both get so mad at each other whenever we try to talk about it. And now he's upset because I met this guy at the library and we've gone out to lunch a few times."

"Well, Ron always has been a little jealous, to put it kindly."

Hermione laughed a little. "True. Geoffrey – that's his name – he's doing research funded by a university in Berlin. It's just so wonderful talking to someone like that – a real scholar. I mean, Ron tries, but…" she shrugged. "Geoffrey and I can discuss Arithmancy and Runes and all those things. That's all there is to it, though, we're just friends!" Hermione looked up at him anxiously, and Harry gave her a nod to show he believed her. "But Ron is just furious about it," Hermione concluded.

"You'll work this out, Hermione," he assured her. "If worse comes to worst, you can always cast _Petrificus _on Ron and make him listen."

"I might have to do that," Hermione said, managing a small smile.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

They had lunch at The Fox and Hounds. Uffington was fairly quiet – no summer tourists around and most people at work. They strolled around the town for a bit after their meal. Harry was admiring a large stone church when Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm. "Look, Harry! A bookstore. Let's just stop in for a minute, shall we?"

Harry grinned, but let himself be led over to the shop – "Parrot Books," the sign proclaimed. A bell chimed as they entered. Books were piled everywhere, overflowing from the tall shelves onto the floor. Hermione picked up the one nearest to hand and began reading.

Harry wandered into the shelves and came upon the shopkeeper stacking some new arrivals. "Hello," the man said. "Can I help you find anything?"

"Do you have anything about Dragon Hill and the White Horse?" Harry asked him. "We've just been visiting over there."

The man grinned. "I always keep several books on that subject on hand. Right over here." He led Harry to a section marked "Local Attractions.""I'm Mr. Nyles, by the way. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks," Harry said, pulling out a visitor's brochure.

Hermione came over, too, and picked up a battered text which looked like it had been languishing in someone's attic

Harry was reading about how locals had been keeping the White Horse clear from overgrowth for hundreds of years when Hermione gave a gasp and gripped his arm. "Listen to this!"

"What?" Harry asked, prying her fingers off.

Hermione looked around nervously for Mr. Nyles, but he had disappeared into the back. She cleared her throat and began reading in a low voice: "_Locals in the vicinity of White Horse Hill claim that one night out of every year the White Horse comes alive. According to legend, if one were to capture the White Horse, the Horse would carry that person to any destination on the planet, or even to other worlds." _Hermione looked up. "Other worlds! What if that's Slytherin's plan? To use the White Horse to take him into the afterlife so he can get his magic back."

"I don't know." Harry read the passage again. "Why couldn't he just go through the portal himself?"

"A powerful magical being like the White Horse would protect him from the draining effect of passing through the portal," Hermione answered. "So Slytherin would be able to hold onto his own magic when he came back through."

"Does it tell what night the White Horse comes alive?"

Hermione flipped through the pages. "No. It doesn't say anything about how one would capture the Horse either."

"Interesting old legend, isn't it?" Mr. Nyles said from behind them, and they both jumped.

"Do you know anything more about it?" Harry asked.

"Not much beyond what's written there. Not many people ask about the legends anymore. They're only interested in which Bronze Age society made the Horse and argue over what it's supposed to represent."

"What about capturing the Horse?" Hermione persisted. "Do you know how that's supposed to be done?"

Mr. Nyles considered. "I've not heard that mentioned too much. However," he reached up and pulled down a small, tattered book, "I was flipping through this one day and stumbled across something interesting. It belonged to an old lady who died a few years ago. I think it's some sort of diary, but she was a strange old bird. Keeps including odd phrases in Latin about turning rabbits into earmuffs and such. But one part stuck in my mind." He handed the book to them, pointing out a passage.

_The Horse lies on the hillside, waiting for when Spring is half-past and Summer approaches. Then he will rise and gallop across the skies to the six stones under which those who made him lie. The Smith passes his hands over stone and takes out the golden bridle which he made to tame the Horse and keep him until the night passes into a new day. _

Underneath this, the old lady had written: _For the words that the Smith speaks, follow the line of power from the shrine on the Mount to the Candle._

"Now, I don't understand all of that," Mr. Nyles said, "but the golden bridle seems plain enough. And that 'line of power' might be a reference to the St. Michael's ley line." He pulled out another book. "Tells all about them in here."

Harry was feeling a bit dazed, but Hermione had a familiar gleam in her eye. "We'll take all these," she said, carrying the books over to the register.

Mr. Nyles rung them up, looking pleased to be making such a large sale in the off season. "These ancient legends do take hold of your imagination. It gives a person quite a thrill to think of that White Horse getting up and flying across the sky."

Harry looked at Hermione, and they both shivered.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Obviously, the Horse comes to life half-way between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice, which would be right about May fifth." Hermione was bent close to the pages of the old book they had purchased in Uffington. They had Apparated back to Harry's house after leaving the bookstore and were now sitting at the table, books and parchment piled about.

"It's so weird to find something that belonged to a witch in a Muggle bookseller's," Harry said, craning his head to look at the spidery writing which lined the pages.

"It looks like her hobby was investigating Muggle legends and seeing if they had any basis in magical fact." Hermione waved a hand. "But accidental interactions between the magical and Muggle world is not the issue here."

"Too bad she couldn't have been a bit more explicit – that whole part about the Mount and the Candle…." Harry shrugged.

"Read that book about ley lines like you're supposed to be doing and maybe you can make some sense of it," Hermione told him with an irritated glare.

Harry grimaced and went back to his appointed task. "I think I've figured out the Mount part," he said after a few minutes of reading. "This St. Michael's ley line starts at St. Michael's Mount. It's that tiny rocky island near Cornwall with a chapel and a castle built on it. I didn't think of it at first, but I've seen pictures of it a few times."

Hermione made a note on the parchment next to her. "The passage clearly says, though, that the words the Smith speaks – that must be a spell of some sort – aren't at the Mount, but at the Candle. So find out what that is."

"Yes, professor," Harry muttered, low enough that Hermione didn't hear.

Sighing, he peered at the small text. A headache had been creeping up on him all afternoon and it was now pounding behind his temples. The nausea had returned, too, after that last Apparition. He forced his concentration onto what he was reading.

_Ley lines, discovered in the 1920s, are purportedly lines of magnetic force running over the earth. They were first observed in England when it was noted that many ancient sites could be connected by a straight line. _

Harry looked at the map on the next page. It depicted the St. Michael's ley line running through Britain. An ambitious soul had even extended it to reach the Great Pyramids in Egypt. The lines merged together as he stared at it. He rubbed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"I'm fine," Harry said shortly. He read a few more paragraphs. "It says here that places like St. Michael's Mount were built on areas where the magnetic forces of the earth are powerful and harmonious."

"Like _Feng shui_," Hermione said. "One of my uncles was very into it. He remodeled the entire front of his house to get the door facing in the right direction."

"Did he do anything with candles, too?" Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione shook her head, and Harry lapsed back into gloom. "Well, there's nothing about candles here."

"You've hardly read the first three pages," Hermione pointed out. "If the Mount is a location, then it would make sense that the Candle is a location, too."

Harry looked back at the map. "The second spot on this ley line is St. Michael's Church at Brentor. Doesn't mention it in the text, though."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Look it up in the index, then. The book doesn't end on that page."

Reminded of why he had always hated homework, Harry looked at the index, and then flipped through the book until he found the specified page. There was a photo of a small church up on a rocky hill. After reading what it said, a grin spread over his face. "Okay, listen to this: Once there was a wealthy merchant sailing along the coast. There was a beacon lit on top of Brentor to warn ships of the rocky shoals. Unfortunately for the merchant, the Devil had blown out the beacon and sent a storm to wreck his ship."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Fascinating story, but what does this have to do with anything?"

Harry gave her a quelling look. "You'll find out in a second," he said, and Hermione subsided, muttering. "_Anyway_, the merchant prayed to St. Michael to help him. He vowed that if St. Michael saved him from death, he would build a church on the first land he saw. St. Michael fought the Devil and won."

"And the first land the merchant saw was Brentor where he built the church," Hermione finished.

Harry gave her a glare. "If you would let me get to my point – "

"Which is?"

"That the church is sometimes called "The Candle" in memory of the beacon that used to shine there."

Hermione banged her hand on the table. "That's it, then!" She scribbled quickly on the parchment. "The spell must be hidden somewhere in this church on Brentor. We'll have to go out and take a look around."

Harry shifted in his chair. That meant he would have to ask Oliver for more time off, which he did _not _want to do, especially with the way he had been flying. Anyway, it wasn't fair that he should have to give up Quidditch. "Would you mind going without me?" he asked Hermione. "I know it's important, but I really need to focus on our upcoming Quidditch match with the Magpies."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile. "Of course I don't mind. You've been a tremendous help already, Harry. I'll be fine."

Harry nodded. He could already feel the guilt beginning to gnaw at him, though.

Hermione caught his mood. "You need to practice, Harry," she said. "Think of what Ron will be like if the Cannons don't win. There'll be no living with him."

"Right." Harry smiled. "It's just – " he paused. He had heard a noise in the other room.

"That must be Draco," Hermione said. She stood, gathering up the books. "I think I'll head home now, Harry."

"You don't have to," Harry said quickly. "Stay for dinner if you want." He cast an uneasy glance at the door. If Hermione left he wouldn't be able to put off facing Draco.

Hermione gave him a look. "When was the last time either of you went grocery shopping?"

"Uh…Last week, maybe?"

"And what were you planning on feeding me?"

"Um…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll take my chances at home, thanks." She put her hand on his arm. "Harry, don't worry about this okay? I'll do some more reading, go out to Brentor and see what I can find out."

Don't worry – small chance of that happening. He managed a smile, though. "Okay. Thanks."

"Of course. And whatever is going on between you and Draco – don't let it fester. It's like what we talked about today – it just makes things worse."

Too bad Hermione was always right.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco heard voices when he opened the door, and a minute later Hermione came out of the kitchen, carrying a pile of books.

"More on Slytherin?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll let Harry explain, though, I need to get going. Have a good night." Hermione stepped out the door, and Draco watched through the window as she walked down the path in the fading sunlight and then Disapparated as soon as the wards stopped. He knew that Harry was standing behind him in the kitchen doorway, and didn't want to turn around and face him.

At first, Draco had felt guilty that he hadn't told Harry about the letter. Well, he had felt guilty since he had received it, actually. But after what Harry had said to him last night, he now felt a good deal of anger as well. He had been trying to apologize, to show Harry that he was sorry, and Harry had thrown it back in his face.

"Are you going to stare out the window all night?"

Draco turned around. "I might. What do you care?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "I don't."

"Well good. That makes two of us." He tried to brush past Harry, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you _trust _me?"

Draco didn't want to vocalize his inner struggle, didn't want to admit how weak he was, but he made himself speak. "Because you were right. I did want to say yes."

"But you didn't."

"That fact didn't seem to matter to you before," Draco shot back.

"I know." Harry sighed. "I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it."

"No." Draco turned towards the dark window; saw his reflection looking back at him. "You should be disgusted with me."

"But I'm not! I could never – "

"I want it back," Draco said, interrupting. "Not the Dark Arts, but the money, the influence, the power."

"But why?" Harry rested his fingers lightly on Draco's cheek. "I don't mind if you don't have any of that. I love you."

"It's not you. It's everyone else."

"They don't matter."

"It's not that easy!" He stepped away from Harry, anger flaring up again. "Maybe you can ignore what people say about you, but I can't! Every day someone humiliates me, Harry. Every day someone reminds me that I'm nothing. And I want it to stop!"

"Then don't go back to Gringotts," Harry said quickly. "You don't have to work there –"

"I have to do _something_ and that's the only thing I can do."

"You don't know that. We could look for something else, something you enjoyed."

"I've looked. There's nothing for someone like me."

Harry grabbed his arm again, harder this time. "Don't say things like that! You can't let these people make you believe that about yourself. Remember the shadows? How they hurt you?"

Draco nodded reluctantly.

"Well these people are just like the shadows. You can't let what they say get to you."

"How? Tell me how I can make myself immune to it, then, because I'm damned if I know what to do."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Realise that it isn't worth getting upset about the opinions of people like that? Realise that this is your life and you shouldn't spend it being miserable?" He gave Draco a half-hearted smile. "I'm still working on it myself, actually."

"Yeah, well, acquaintances like Nott don't help the cause of self-enlightenment," Draco said bitterly. "And now I'm going to be having tea with him."

"You're up to the challenge," Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck.

Draco didn't know if he agreed with that or not, but he said "Yes," anyway and then bent to kiss Harry.

Harry flinched away from him.

Draco jolted back, the hurt and anger returning. "What –"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "I haven't been feeling well today, and it just reminded me…" he trailed off into silence.

_Reminded you of what? Of me pointing my wand at Dumbledore? Of the snake and skull on my arm? _"It doesn't matter," Draco said stiffly.

Miserable green eyes looked up at him. "It's not you," Harry said. They stood silently for a few moments. Harry moved closer, then, and gently pressed his lips against Draco's.

Relief rushed through Draco. He should pursue this, find out what was upsetting Harry, but it was too wonderful to put his arms around him and forget about everything else.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Ron studied the reports in front of him, chewing absently on his quill. The good news was that Goyle looked to be just as dull and unimaginative as an adult as he had been as a child. That fact was going to allow Ron to spirit him away for a while so he could protect Draco. _Protect_. Ron snorted. Malfoy was only insisting on this to make his life difficult.

Goyle, according to his file, had been given a Muggle identity after getting out of Azkaban and was now working as a doorman at some posh hotel in downtown London. Ron looked at the data from the tracking spell that the Ministry had placed on him. Every Monday through Friday, without fail, Goyle got up, went to work for eight hours, then went home. On Saturday, he went to the grocers and to a local bar for a few hours in the evening. On Sunday, he stayed home. The pattern never varied.

That meant it should be fairly easy to substitute a bogus tracking spell for a short time. Make it look like Goyle was just following his normal routine when really, he wouldn't be there at all. It wouldn't work forever, of course, but hopefully long enough to mollify Draco.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

It was sleeting when Ron went outside – a nasty, cold day. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and made a mental note to get a Muggle winter coat for the next time he had to do a bit of blending in. He made his way to the hotel where Goyle worked and took up position in front of a shop window across the way. Even with a Glamour, Goyle was easy to spot; there was no mistaking that hulking form for anyone else. Goyle was dressed in the hotel uniform and at the moment was holding the door open for a well-dressed woman with about seven suitcases. Ron shook his head. Imagine that – Goyle actually capable of doing a job.

"Ron? Is that you?"

Ron jumped at the sound of his name and turned around quickly, one hand darting towards his wand. Then he saw who it was, and let his hand drop. "Ginny? What are you doing here?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I live about three blocks from here, Ron."

"Oh, right. So, you want to get something to eat? My treat." Ron didn't want to give her the chance to ask what he was doing in the neighbourhood. The less people who knew about this whole thing with Malfoy, the better.

Ginny gave him a look, but nodded her head. "Sure. There's a nice place just around the corner."

"How are things going, then?" Ron asked, once they were seated.

Ginny shrugged. "Okay. You?"

"Okay." Silence fell. Ron's mind had wandered off to determining how he would need to alter the tracking spell, when he realised Ginny had started talking again and had said Malfoy's name.

"What? Sorry, wasn't listening there."

"I _said _are you sure Malfoy has really turned away from the Dark Arts? At Christmas – he seemed a little too…nice."

"Oh, he was just on his best behaviour then. Trust me, he's still an annoying prat most of the time." _Whose help I unfortunately need_, Ron added silently to himself.

"But the Dark Arts?" Ginny persisted.

Ron paused, taking a good look at Ginny's face. There was a hopeful look in her eye that he hated to quench. "He's renounced them."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"And Harry – ?"

"Loves him. And Draco loves Harry. And they're happy together." Ron shook his head. "I know it's weird, Ginny, but it's the truth."

"But it isn't…" she trailed off.

"Isn't what you thought would happen?" Ron finished, and she nodded. He sighed. "I know, but it did and there you are."

"Oh come on, Ron. Don't tell me you're happy that Draco Malfoy is shagging your best friend!"

Ron leaned back in his chair. "Maybe I'm not, but I'm not going to say that to Harry. And don't you go saying it either." Ginny blushed, and he scowled. "Just leave it alone, can't you?"

"How?" Tears trickled down Ginny's cheeks. "How can I just leave it alone when I love him?"

"Do you?" Ron asked her quietly. "Would you really want to spend the rest of your life with Harry? With _this _Harry – not the guy who was your boyfriend back at Hogwarts."

Ginny was silent. Ron reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Martin seems like a really nice guy, Ginny. Just because it wasn't Harry doesn't mean you won't find someone else."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco Apparated into work on Monday with a new mantra – don't let the bastards get to you. It didn't quite seem to get at the whole "joy of life" part that Harry had mentioned, but it would have to do for now. To be fair, he had managed to be a little more cheerful than usual to Harry that morning. Normally, monosyllabic responses were all that he could manage when he first got up, but he had gotten out one whole sentence and even made coffee. Harry had looked startled, which was better than pale and tired like he had looked all weekend. Harry said he was fine, though, when Draco asked. Just rough Quidditch practices. Their game against the Magpies was the second of February, this coming Saturday.

Harry had filled him in about what they thought was happening with Slytherin. It sounded like Slytherin was just laying low until May when he would try to bring his powers through. Hopefully, they would figure out how to stop him by then.

_Don't let the bastards get to you_. Draco plastered a smile on his face and greeted his first client.

By the end of the day, he was badly in need of a Firewhiskey. The mantra had worked for about fifteen minutes. Then the client had mentioned casually how disappointed Draco's father would be if he could see him now. Not in so many words, of course, but Draco got the point. He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter, but it did. Here he was, scrabbling around in the scraps that the wizarding world deigned to cast his way, trying to be the powerful, rich man his father had been. It was pitiful. The day went downhill from there.

Just as it was time to leave, an owl tapped on his window. Growling, Draco ripped the parchment from its leg.

_Draco,_

_I've located your friend. Come meet me at the Bat and we'll go pick him up._

_R.W._

Draco's stomach jolted. He hadn't expected Ron to find Greg so quickly. In fact, he had hoped it would take Ron a long time to figure out how to free Greg from the Ministry's clutches. He preferred consigning the day he would have to meet Nott to the indefinite future.

Draco knew Nott would be impressed if it looked like he had managed to free Greg from the Ministry. But that was only part of the reason he had asked Ron to find him. He also truly wanted to see Greg again. He missed him. Missed the only friends he had ever had. But did Greg want to see him? After all, it was Draco's fault that Greg had gone to Azkaban. Draco's fault that both he and Vincent had taken the Mark. They had only done it because Draco had.

Trying to calm his jumping stomach, Draco put on his cloak and hurried out into Diagon Alley. The Hanging Bat wasn't too far away. It was crowded with just-off-work wizards and witches. He spotted Ron's red hair through the throng and went over.

"Have a seat," Ron said. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "I found Goyle. He's working as a doorman at a Muggle hotel."

"A doorman?" Draco blinked, trying to picture Greg in one of those ridiculous hats Muggles wore.

"Yeah. Now, I figured out a way to alter the tracking spell so that it will make it look like Goyle is following his usual routine even if he isn't there. It should give him the opportunity to slip away with you to visit Nott without anyone being the wiser. I thought we'd go and explain the situation to him. I'll teach you the spell, too so that you can do it when you're ready to go see Nott." Ron glared at him. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of how illegal and dangerous this whole thing is. If either of us gets caught – "

"I know, I know. I'll be careful."

"Right." Ron gave him a final stern look. "Ready to go then? Goyle should be off work now and back in his flat."

They had to take the Muggle Underground to get there. Draco stifled a snigger when Ron got caught in the revolving metal spokes you had to pass through, although his mirth was dampened moments later as he tripped coming off an odd moving staircase. Nothing like the ones at Hogwarts, and Draco knew which ones he preferred.

So they were both looking a bit disgruntled when they showed up at Greg's flat. It was in a shabby building, trash overflowing in the rubbish bins in the alley, and Draco felt a pang of guilt. His fault.

"You coming?" Ron asked as Draco hesitated at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes." Draco climbed up to stand next to Ron. A row of buttons on a wall carried the names of the building's tenants.

"That's him," Ron said, pointing to the name Bruce Cooper. "You have to press the button."

"I know _that_," Draco hissed at him. He jabbed at the button and there was a buzzing noise. They stood waiting for a minute or so. Draco sighed and pressed it again. After all, this was Greg.

This time a voice answered. "Who is it?"

"It's me. Draco."

Silence. Then, "Come on up."

There was a click, and Ron opened the door. Greg's room was on the second floor, and Ron stopped when they got there, looking at him expectantly. Draco raised his arm, which felt like it weighed about twenty pounds, and knocked.

He had forgotten that Greg would be under a Glamour, and was shocked when a man with blond hair answered the door. But then Ron waved his wand and Greg's features melted into the familiar face. "Hi, Draco," Greg said, and motioned for them to come in.

There was a T.V. in the living room, and a large collection of empty beer bottles. Draco sat down on the sagging couch. Ron was already talking, explaining to Greg what they were doing there. Ron kept going back and repeating points, clearly doubting Greg's ability to pick up on what was going on.

"So Draco here has agreed to go spy on him, and – "

"I need your help," Draco interrupted. He looked up at Greg.

The confusion which had been clouding Greg's features cleared. He smiled. "Sure." Ron let out an exasperated snort.

"Thanks," Draco said, and Greg nodded. "So, are you…doing okay?"

Greg looked around the dingy room. He looked back at Draco. "I'm great," he replied quietly. "It's good to see you again."

Draco swallowed hard. He tried to smile. "This will be just like old times. And after – I'll try to get the Ministry to give your wand back, let you come out of hiding." Greg didn't say anything. "If – if you want to," Draco added quickly.

"I don't mind being a Muggle, really," Greg said. "They're not so bad."

Draco heard the unspoken words. If Greg came back, he would be in the same situation Draco was – hated, struggling to find a job. "Well, think about it," he said.

Ron broke in then and showed Draco how to perform the alterations on the tracking spell. Draco told Greg he would be back as soon as he got a meeting set up with Nott. And then he and Ron were back out on the pavement.

"Weird to see just the two of you sitting there," Ron muttered.

It would have been odd, Draco silently agreed, if Vince hadn't been there, too, an unacknowledged, but unforgotten ghost.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco couldn't go right home after seeing Greg. Instead, he Apparated to a Muggle park. He often came here after a hard day, or when he was missing his parents, or when he just wanted to be by himself for awhile. He was anonymous here in the Muggle world, and no one would bother him, exactly like Greg had said.

There was another reason he came to this specific spot, though. This was where he and Harry had wandered to on that morning when Harry had kissed him for the first time. Draco sat down on a bench and stared into the darkness, remembering every moment. The look of surprise in Harry's green eyes, the flush suffusing his cheeks. Draco's heart had been pounding so hard, but he had pulled Harry to him, kissed him back.

That was why Draco would never stay in the Muggle world. Never try to find anonymity and peace in a place where no one recognized him. Because that would mean leaving Harry, and he would never do that. If Greg had someone waiting for him in the magical world, he would go back, too. But Greg had no one except him – a friend who hadn't been much of one.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry was already in bed when he got home. Draco crawled in next to him, shivering from being out in the cold so long. Harry's warm arms wrapped around him.

"Where have you been?" Harry murmured. "I was starting to get worried."

"Visiting Greg. Weasley found a way he can help me without the Ministry figuring out."

Harry was silent for a few moments. "And how was it?" he finally asked in a quiet voice.

"Hard." His voice sounded brittle, too loud in the soft darkness. "It's my fault he has the Mark. My fault he has to live in the Muggle world. He should have yelled at me, hit me. But all he did was smile and say that he would help."

Harry smoothed Draco's hair away from his face. "Don't blame yourself."

Draco turned in Harry's arms, pressed his face against Harry's shoulder. He wanted to tell Harry how glad, how _thankful _he was to have him, to not be alone anymore. But his throat was too tight, so instead he just held Harry close.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's note: **Revisions later in the story required some revisions to earlier chapters, too. I have posted edited versions of the early chapters with the changes (mostly minor) included.

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione took in the peaceful atmosphere of the tiny chapel perched high on the rocky tor and wished that her mood echoed it. The week had been a busy one at St. Mungo's and this was the first chance she had gotten to come out to Brentor. She couldn't stay long – Harry's Quidditch match was that afternoon – but she wanted to take a quick look around.

All week during her lunch hour she had slipped over to the library to read and re-read the books they had gotten in Uffington. Remembering that Geoffrey had said he was doing research in ancient history, she had asked him if he had known anything about it. But Geoffrey had just smiled and said that fairy tales weren't in his specific field. Hermione had bristled at that and gone frostily back to her books.

Trailing her fingers over the backs of the pews, she walked slowly through the chapel. A stained glass window depicting St. Michael cast colourful shadows on the floor. She couldn't imagine where a magical spell would be hidden in here. The old witch's book had mentioned nothing else about it which irritated Hermione to no end. If you were going to write something down in the first place, you should put down all you knew about it and make it clear – not leave it at abstract scribblings.

For a moment, she wished that Harry was there to help her. But no, he needed to be doing other things now. She had told Ron that yesterday evening when Ron had protested at her coming out here alone. All those years Harry had fought against the Dark Arts, barely knowing a moment's peace – Hermione was certainly capable of taking over in this matter of Slytherin. Ron had agreed reluctantly and went back to finishing some paperwork.

Paperwork. Hermione gritted her teeth. She was sure he was doing it just to annoy her – Ron _never _worked on things like that outside the office. It had been hard enough to get him to do his homework back at Hogwarts; there was no reason to think his habits would improve.

After pouring out her heart to Harry, she had been almost ready to talk to Ron about their future, but Ron would persist in being so bloody annoying! Bringing home paperwork like she often did, just to drive home his point that all they ever did was work. Which wasn't true – weren't they both going to a Quidditch match this afternoon? He kept casually asking if she had seen Geoffrey recently, too.

"I'm not about to discuss important topics with Ron until he starts behaving like a mature adult!" she burst out, her words echoing in the chapel. The stained glass representation of St. Michael seemed to give her a reproachful look. "Well, I'm not," Hermione told him.

A bird cawed outside, and she shook herself. She was dwelling on Ron and talking to windows when she should be looking for the spell. Crouching down, she began going over the floor with her wand, muttering revealing charms.

Forty minutes later, she had found nothing. Her back and neck ached from twisting around to peer under pews, up at the ceiling, and into odd corners. She had tried every spell she could think of to reveal secret compartments or obfuscated objects, but nothing had turned up.

Stepping outside, Hermione took a deep breath of the clean winter air. She cast her eye on the many rocks scattered about the chapel. Perhaps the spell was outside, not inside? A look at her watch, however, told her that it was almost time for the match to start. Grimacing, Hermione took one last scan of the area before Apparating. She _would _find that spell.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The stands were crowded and noisy when Hermione arrived. She squeezed down the row until she reached Ron and Draco who were keeping a seat open for her. "Find anything?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head.

Draco didn't look at her. He was staring down towards the pitch, frowning. "Is there something wrong?" Hermione asked him.

"Harry hasn't been feeling good," Draco said shortly. "I suggested that maybe he shouldn't play, but…" He trailed off. Hermione sighed. Yes. No need to repeat how _that _had gone over.

There was a loud boo, mixed with a few isolated cheers, as the announcer began calling out the names of the Montrose Magpies. Then a great roar went up as the Cannons came on the field. Hermione peered closely at Harry. Perhaps he was flying a little sluggishly, but he was waving cheerfully at the crowd.

The Cannons got first possession and rocketed down the field towards the Magpies' goal.

Harry swooped up over the Cannons' end of the pitch, scanning the area. The Magpie Seeker followed him.

McDowell launched the Quaffle at the right hand goal hoop, but the Magpie Keeper deflected it. Bludgers, Quaffles, and players changed direction, heading for the other side. The Magpie Seeker suddenly zoomed into the middle of the pitch. Harry followed, but at a glacially slow pace compared to his usual speed.

"Why isn't Harry going faster?" Ron said, watching through the Omnoculars. "Is something wrong with his broom?"

A Bludger hurtled towards Harry, who barely avoided it, almost falling off his broom. Hermione gasped and gripped Ron's arm. Draco jerked forward, hands clenched at his sides. "Call a bloody time out," he muttered, eyes locked on Harry.

A second later, Oliver did just that. The team gathered by the goal posts. Hermione could see Oliver waving his arms, and then Harry broke away and drifted down towards the sidelines. The Cannons' reserve Seeker shot up past him into the sky. Surprised yells and muttering broke out in the crowd.

Draco pushed past them abruptly. Hermione followed quickly, Ron dogging her footsteps. "I've never seen Harry fly like that," Ron said in a low voice. "Even when he broke his arm in second year, he still caught the Snitch!"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "It's probably a silly cold or something. You know how Harry hates hospitals. He's probably just being stubborn when a simple potion can fix it."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron said, but she heard the doubt in his voice.

Harry had already disappeared into the locker rooms when they got down to the pitch. A security guard was holding back reporters at the entrance. Draco hesitated for a split second and then strode up to the guard. "Let me through."

A fresh wave of shouts broke out among the reporters and flashbulbs went off, filling the air with smoke. The guard eyed Draco sceptically. "You need proper authorization," he said.

Hermione saw Draco's hand edging towards his wand and was about to jump in, but Ron stepped in front of her. "Auror Ron Weasley," he said, holding out his identification. "We need to see Harry Potter." The guard looked unhappy, but didn't want to stand up to a Ministry official either. He waved the three of them through.

Draco broke into a run as soon as he was in the door. Hermione almost bumped into him when he skidded to a halt just around the first corner. She peered over his shoulder. Harry was leaning against the wall, his face pale and sweaty. Draco stepped forward. "Harry?"

"I felt too sick. Couldn't fly," Harry murmured in a halting voice. He reached for Draco's hand, but his legs gave way.

"Harry!" Draco caught him as he fell, but couldn't support Harry's weight. They both sank to the floor.

Hermione was next to them in an instant, her wand out. "Harry, can you hear me?" she asked, running her wand up and down his body. Harry's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't respond.

"Is he okay?" Ron asked hovering over them.

Hermione shook her head. "His pulse is thready. Blood pressure elevated. We need to get him to St. Mungo's." She looked up at Draco. "I can Apparate there directly with him."

Draco's face was tight, but he relinquished Harry into her arms.

"We'll tell Oliver what's going on and meet you there," Ron said, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder.

Hermione nodded and Apparated, holding Harry tightly.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Three exhausting hours later, Hermione corked the last bottle of potion and set it on the cart next to the bed. Sometimes, she wished that wizards used electrical monitoring devices like Muggles did. The steady beeping of a heart monitor would be so comforting compared to this heavy silence.

She turned away and opened the door. Ron and Draco were both out in the hall. Ron was pacing, Draco standing against the wall, staring at the door. He started forward as Hermione came out. "Is he –?"

"He's all right for now."

Draco closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "Can I see him?"

Hermione hesitated. "There's something I need to explain first." She took his arm and guided him to some chairs. Ron followed, concern written over his face.

"We've gotten his condition stabilized," she began. "There's no sign of physical injuries."

"Then what is it?"

"Something's wrong with his magic. It's like it's been…depleted." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "It's hard to explain, but a wizard or witch's magic is intimately tied to his or her physical and mental well-being. When you're sick, for example, your magic isn't as strong. Or when you're exceptionally angry, you can cause a corresponding spike in your magic. Some of Harry's magic has disappeared and that's causing the physical distress."

Ron frowned. "But how? How could his magic just disappear?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. None of the Healers have heard of anything like this either. Harrison and Newcombe are running some tests right now, but maybe when Harry wakes up he'll be able to shed some light on it."

Draco had remained silent during this explanation, but now he spoke in a low voice. "If his magic keeps disappearing like this, will it…kill him?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I don't think so. But if he keeps losing more, he'll eventually become just like a Muggle," she finished in a small voice.

Ron drew a sharp breath and grabbed her hand. A shiver passed over Draco's face. "Can I see him?" he asked again. Hermione nodded. Draco stood up, opened the door and closed it again behind him.

"We can't lose him, Hermione," Ron said.

"Harry without his magic will still be Harry," Hermione said sharply. "He'll still be our friend."

"I know," Ron said quickly, "but –"

"We'll figure out what's going on," she said, cutting him off. "It will be fine."

There was a sudden commotion down the hall, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared. "Hermione, Ron! We heard it on the news – is Harry all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked breathlessly, her face tight with worry.

"He's stable." Hermione explained again about the depleted magic.

Tears welled up in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "Oh, no. And he was looking so wonderful at Christmas. Those poor boys –"

She stopped as the door opened. Draco was standing there. "He's waking up," he announced quietly.

Hermione hurried inside and went over to Harry. Green eyes blinked up at her. "Hey," Harry said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Did we win?"

"I – I don't know," Hermione managed to say, trying not to break into hysterical laughter. "How do you feel, Harry?"

"A little dizzy. Better than I did this morning, though." Harry looked past her shoulder, and his eyes settled on Draco. He gave him a small smile. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"We have some ideas. It's hard to be certain – none of the Healers quite know what to make of it – but it appears like your magic is being depleted in some way."

Harry paled. "And that's what's making me ill?"

"Yes. Harry, do you have any ideas about why this might be happening?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "The dreams," he said slowly. "Slytherin."

"Salazar Slytherin?" Mr. Weasley broke in.

"We'll explain later, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said hastily. She turned back to Harry. "What do you mean about dreams?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Slytherin has been appearing in my dreams," he said slowly. "I think it might have to do with the connection I had with Voldemort." He focused on Draco. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said quietly. "I wasn't sure if they were just stupid nightmares or what and…"

Draco shook his head. "Don't – don't worry about it, Harry."

Harry sighed and looked back at Hermione. "Somehow, Slytherin can control what I dream. He made me relive all my confrontations with Voldemort. But then, this one time, he…kissed me. Not really a kiss – it was awful – like he was sucking the air from my lungs." He looked up at Draco again. "That's why…" Draco nodded in understanding and Harry continued. "After that was when I began to feel sick. I had the same dream, if that's what you'd call it, last night."

"It's your magic, Harry," Hermione said softly. "He's sucking out your magic." She shook her head. "But it doesn't make sense – how can he do this when he doesn't have any magical powers?"

Harry gave her a lop-sided smile. "I can ask him for you, the next time I see him."

"No! We can't let him get at you again. Harry – if you keep losing your magic – there's no way to replace it." There was a sob from Mrs. Weasley. Harry's eyes flickered to Draco for a second and then focused back on Hermione.

"He said he needs someone else's magic until he can get his own powers back. He said I was…strong enough to last until then."

An icy hand had gripped Hermione's heart, but she forced herself to speak calmly. "Feeding off another's magic must be the only thing that is sustaining Slytherin half-way between life and death. But he can't actually channel that magic and use it as his own." She took a deep breath. "We'll find a way to stop him, Harry. I think we should try a Dreamless Sleep potion first. Hopefully Slytherin won't be able to get through that."

Harry nodded. He was silent for a few moments, then looked up at Ron. "So, you must know, mate – did we win?"

Ron gave him a weak grin. "Yes. It was a near thing, though. Lawrence is nowhere near as good a Seeker as you. Almost let the Magpies get the Snitch."

"Lawrence is a great diver." Harry smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "You guys didn't have to come down here."

"Of course we did," Mrs. Weasley said, coming closer to Harry. She smoothed his hair off his forehead and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"The potions we gave you have cured most of the physical illness you were feeling, Harry," Hermione said. "But it's still a good idea if you rest. I'll order a Dreamless Sleep potion sent up for you."

"Yes, you rest and get better." Mrs. Weasley gave him another kiss, and Mr. Weasley patted his arm. "We'll give you some peace and quiet."

"Can Draco stay?" Harry asked quickly.

"Of course," Hermione said. She ushered the Weasleys and Ron out the door.

"Now, what is all this about Salazar Slytherin?" Mr. Weasley asked as soon as she shut the door.

Hermione looked at Ron who sighed. "I guess it won't hurt for a few more people to know." He led his parents to some chairs. "It started when the Aurors found this book at Malfoy Manor," he began. Hermione let him tell the story while she wrote a prescription for Dreamless Sleep and sent it flying down the hall. She hoped it would work, but was already trying to come up with something else in case it didn't.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The door shut, leaving Draco and Harry staring at each other. Harry looked away. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I should have told you."

Draco walked over to him, sat down next to him on the bed. "Harry, I – " he started to say, but then Harry was in his arms, his hair soft against Draco's cheek.

"This – you – I can't…" Harry whispered brokenly.

"You're not going to lose your magic," Draco said fiercely. "And even if you did – it wouldn't matter to me. I wouldn't care!"

"I would!" Harry's tears were hot against his skin. "I _can't _lose it! I _won't_!"

Draco's throat was tight. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe. His mind just kept screaming _No!, No!, No! _over and over.

Harry turned his head so that his breath ghosted over Draco's neck. "When he grabs me – I can't _move, _I can't _fight_. I don't know what to do."

"The Dreamless Sleep will work. And if it doesn't – we'll find something else."

Harry stayed buried in Draco's arms until a gentle knock on the door broke them apart, and a Healer came in with the Dreamless Sleep potion. Harry took it from her hand. "You'll stay here, right?" he asked Draco.

"Of course," Draco said, his voice hoarse. It was just like a year ago – only now it was Harry begging him to stay. And he would.

Harry took a deep breath, swallowed the potion. Sleep crept over him, and his eyes closed. Draco stared at him until he heard a soft footstep. He turned quickly. It was Mrs. Weasley.

She came over. "Oh, Harry," she whispered, then sighed and shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. After a moment, she turned towards Draco. "Why don't you come back to the Burrow with us for some hot supper, dear?"

Draco shook his head. "I told him I would stay."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, then put her arms around him, drawing him into a hug. Draco stood stiffly for a moment, but then relaxed a little. He remembered his own mother hugging him like this sometimes when he was small. He wished that she was there now – that he could cry into her shoulder, and she would soothe away his tears.

"I'll send Ron back with a plate for you, then," Mrs. Weasley said, letting go. "And don't worry. Harry's going to be all right."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Ron headed back to the Burrow with his parents, but Hermione couldn't stand the thought of sitting around and eating right then.

"I'm going to take some medical texts and go to the library for awhile," she said.

"You haven't eaten for hours, Hermione," Ron protested. "How productive can you really be?"

"I'll grab something on the way." She took Ron's hand. "We might know by tomorrow whether Dreamless Sleep works or not. And if it doesn't, I have to find something else we can try. I have to figure out how Slytherin is doing this."

Ron glanced over at Harry's room, and he nodded. "Okay. Let me know if I can help, all right?"

"Right." Hermione gave him a quick kiss, and then hurried off to her office to pick up some books.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The library was fairly empty at this hour. Hermione let out a deep breath, feeling some of the tension drain out of her in the quiet atmosphere. Questions swirled in her mind – the puzzle of the White Horse and now these dreams. She settled down at a table and organized her thoughts. The situation reminded her of when Voldemort was sending Harry dreams about the Department of Mysteries in Fifth Year. She had the impression that Voldemort had only been able to do this because he and Harry were connected through the scar. If Harry was right, this was also the reason that Slytherin could access his dreams. Voldemort had been able to influence what Harry dreamed, but Slytherin was actually entering Harry's dreams and affecting him physically, something that seemed like it should be impossible, especially because Slytherin had no magical powers.

Dream theory was a rather esoteric magical discipline – too closely connected to Divination for most serious scholars. Still, a few books did exist which went into the basics. Hermione flipped through the ones she had been able to find. According to the authors, there was no approved spell that would give a person access to another's dreams or allow them to dictate what someone else was dreaming. There were, however, a few hints that a Dark Arts spell existed which could forge a connection between two people and allow one person to influence the other's dreams. Still, it appeared that physical contact was necessary to create the connection. And anyway, Slytherin had no magical powers. Hermione sighed in frustration.

"Having trouble?"

She jumped in surprise and turned around to find Geoffrey standing there. "You're here a bit late today," he went on.

"So are you," Hermione replied.

"I'm having a few problems with the research paper I'm working on. The university wants a draft of it in a few weeks, and I need something to give them." He smiled. "What's your excuse?"

Hermione gave him a considering look. Perhaps Geoffrey knew something about dreams – he had admitted that his magical education had been rather unusual. Of course, she couldn't go into too many details, but…

"I'm having trouble with a patient at work," she began. "It's a bit complicated, but it has to do with dreams. Do you know much about the subject?"

Geoffrey set the book he had been reading – _Muggle Legends: Madness or Magical Fact? _– aside and sat down across from her. "Dreams – not something Healers are usually concerned with," he said slowly.

"I know. It's a very odd case, but the patient's magical ability is in danger."

"In danger? From a dream?"

"Yes." Hermione blushed, knowing how unprofessional the next bit was going to sound. "He says that someone is visiting him in his dreams and draining away his magic. But I don't see how that's possible."

Geoffrey stayed silent for awhile, and Hermione was just about to admit how stupid the whole thing sounded, when he looked up at her and smiled. "Dreams are unusual things. Quite fascinating, really."

"Then you know something about them?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"I've done some private research into them. I've certainly gone beyond the drivel you'll find in those," he added, gesturing at the books piled in front of her.

"Then is it possible? Could a wizard or witch physically harm another person through their dreams?"

Geoffrey leaned back in his chair. "Our reality – the world where we're talking to each other right now – is just one of many. At death, we enter another reality. It is not totally disconnected from this one, but it is mostly separate. The world of our dreams, however, is a reality which is much closer to this one than death. We touch it nightly, but most people don't know how to access it consciously."

"But one could?"

"Yes."

"And have you ever…?"

"It takes years of work. And a certain…alteration of states."

"So a person could actually enter dreams – both theirs and others?"

Geoffrey nodded. "And from within another person's dream, because it is so intimately connected to this present reality, it would be possible to physically harm them."

"I suppose." Hermione frowned. "But there's another problem. The case I'm working on – the patient believes that the perpetrator has no magical powers."

"Magic is not necessary – at least, not the crude _Obliviate _and _Reparo_ magic that concerns most wizards. There are deeper and subtler forms. They are not easy to find," a grimace passed over Geoffrey's face, "but they do exist."

"But that still seems to imply that some form of magic would be needed. I don't see how someone without magic could –"

Geoffrey cut her off. "Didn't you hear what I said about an alteration of states? You, Hermione, could not enter another's dreams because you are so deeply connected to this reality. But if that connection were weak or nonexistent…"

Hermione took a sharp breath. "Which would occur if someone had crossed into another reality? Like the afterlife?" _Like Slytherin_, she added silently.

"That person would not need magic to cross into dreams. They would be close to all three realities. And if one knew how to manipulate dreams, having magical powers would not be necessary to drain your patient's magic."

"How did you find all this out?" Hermione asked, astounded. "I mean, _you _can't have crossed into another reality. You'd have the same problem I would – being too closely connected to this world."

Geoffrey shrugged. "You're the one who has the proof here. I'm just giving you my own personal take on how it could be accomplished."

"Well, it does make sense." Hermione sighed. "We're trying Dreamless Sleep tonight, but I don't know if it will stop Harry's magic from being drained."

"Harry?"

Hermione blushed. "My patient's name," she muttered.

"Oh. Well, I'm afraid I need to get going," Geoffrey continued. "I need to check up on something. Best of luck to you and your patient in defeating his assailant." He paused. "By the way, I must say I'm very impressed at how you just figured all that out, Hermione. I can tell your reputation of brilliance is well deserved."

Hermione blushed again and stammered a good night as Geoffrey left. She'd head home for a few hours of sleep, and then go back to the hospital. She wanted to be there when Harry woke up.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

From what Harry could tell, the night was peaceful and empty at first. No dreams troubled him, and Slytherin didn't appear. Then –

_A thick fog surrounded him. His limbs felt heavy, his hearing dull. _

"_Trying to avoid me, Harry?" _

_Unwillingly, Harry turned. Slytherin stood there, clad in his usual green robes. _

"_Dreamless Sleep." Slytherin laughed. "Well, what else can be expected of a Mudblood – although I had expected something a little more creative."_

"_Shut up!" Harry forced his legs to move, stumbled a few steps closer to Slytherin. His legs trembled, though, and he couldn't keep from sinking to his knees._

"_Feeling a little weak?" Harry could hear the smirk in Slytherin's voice. _

"_You can't do this," Harry managed to say. "Trying to take back your old life – it's wrong."_

"_Wrong?" Slytherin inclined his head. "Why is it wrong for someone to obtain their true potential? Why is it wrong for someone to push the boundaries of knowledge?"_

"_Because death isn't supposed to be something you fight. It's part of living." Harry struggled back to his feet. "You're no better than Voldemort."_

"_Don't compare me to that half-blood fool," Slytherin hissed. A few steps and he stood in front of Harry. He reached out and gripped Harry's jaw. "Three months. And then you, Harry Potter, will be nothing more than a useless, pathetic Muggle."_

Slytherin faded into the fog, and then the fog dissipated as well until Harry was opening his eyes to early morning sunlight streaming through the window. His heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. Turning, he discovered Draco lying next to him on top of the covers, still clothed and fast asleep. He reached out and brushed back the few strands of hair falling across Draco's eyes.

"Harry?"

Hermione was standing in the doorway. She looked tired, still in the robes she had been wearing yesterday. She tiptoed across the room and sat down. "Did it work?" she whispered.

Harry shook his head.

Hermione muttered to herself in a low, vehement tone.

Draco shifted next to him. "What else can we try?" he asked, sitting up and staring at Hermione.

"I don't know." Hermione massaged her temples. "Slytherin can do this because he's not alive, but he's not dead either. Short of killing him, I don't know how we can stop it. And who knows how we'll do that. It's just like Voldemort and his bloody Horcruxes."

"What about Occlumency?" Harry asked. "I know I'm terrible at it, but I could try again."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think it would work. Occlumency involves mind reading, not dreams."

"We should still try it," Draco said. "Since you don't have any better ideas."

Hermione flushed. "Occlumency requires power. It's not something your average wizard is successful at!"

"And Harry's not an average wizard!" Draco shot back.

"I know that, but –" Hermione stopped and sighed. "Harry, try casting a simple charm."

Slowly, Harry reached for his wand, a knot forming in his stomach. He pointed at the glass of water standing on the bedside table. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," he cast. The glass rose shakily into the air, hovered about three inches off the table, and then fell to the floor, shattering.

"You can't do Occlumency anymore, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "Patronuses, complex Transfigurations – none of it."

"Quidditch," Harry murmured, and let his wand drop from his fingers.

Hermione nodded sadly. "If Slytherin keeps taking your power, even simple charms like this will be too much."

Draco gripped his hand, hard. "There must be some spell that Harry could try."

"Forget performing spells, we have to concentrate on retaining some of his magic!" Hermione said, her voice rising. "Harry should stay here under medical supervision –"

"I'm not going to just lie here in bed!" Harry sat up, shaking off Draco's restraining hand. "We're going to figure out how to keep Slytherin from gaining control of the White Horse, how to put an end to this. I can help you with that, Hermione. Even if I can't do any major spells."

"I know, Harry," Hermione said, twisting the hem of her robe in her fingers. "I'd love to have your help. But –_" _

"Lying in St. Mungo's won't do Harry any good," Draco said. "He's smarter than most wizards even with half his magic gone. He can figure out how to stop Slytherin." Harry gave him a grateful smile.

"Fine," Hermione said, irritated. "You're no better than you were in Hogwarts, Harry. Running around when you should have been in the hospital." She took out a piece of parchment. "I'll make up a list of potions you can begin taking to keep down the dizziness and nausea. I'm going to begin working on a potential magic replenishing potion immediately." She began scribbling quickly, muttering to herself.

Harry stared down at the covers. "I suppose I'll have to tell Oliver that I can't be on the team anymore."

Draco slipped his arm around his shoulders. "It's only temporary. You'll be back next season."

Harry closed his eyes, leaned his head on Draco's shoulders. "Right."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

It was almost a relief to find the owl waiting for him at Gringotts the next day. Draco couldn't stop thinking about Harry, and thought he might go mad if he didn't find something to distract himself. He remembered what it had been like to not be able to use his magic. But at least it had still been with him – if Harry lost all of his magic… He unfurled the parchment and read it. Nott would meet him Wednesday evening.

Unfortunately, this just gave him something else to obsess over. Soon he was imagining potential conversations with Nott, all of which inevitably led to Draco falling apart and confessing that he was there spying for the Aurors. By the end of the day he was a nervous wreck and took out his stress on a few small children noisily chattering in the lobby. No wonder Snape had always been such a bastard.

Harry was stretched out on the couch reading when he got home. He had wanted to go rushing off to Brentor immediately, but Granger had insisted that he rest for a few days. He looked a little pale, but otherwise healthy. It was hard to believe that he wasn't. The question of how Harry would regain his lost magic even if they did defeat Slytherin had also been plaguing Draco.

"What is it?" Harry asked, sensing his foul mood.

Draco looked down at Harry, and a lump rose in his throat. He swallowed. "I'm going to meet Nott on Wednesday evening."

Harry nodded. "You'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?" Draco began pacing around the room. "What if I blow the whole thing the minute I get in the door?"

Harry reached out for his hand, and Draco allowed himself to be pulled down next to him. "You won't." Harry smiled. "You made me fall in love with you, after all. That had to have taken quite a bit of intelligence and quick thinking."

"Are you implying that I somehow tricked you into this whole thing?" Draco inquired, wriggling on the couch so that he was lying next to Harry.

"Well, I have wondered sometimes," Harry began, grinning. "I don't know how else you would explain it."

Draco hit him with a pillow. "There's my stunning good looks, for one."

"Oh, right." Laughing, Harry got him into a headlock. "Forgot about those."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Wednesday evening found Draco standing outside Greg's door, clutching his wand in one hand. Greg let him inside with a grunted hello. "Stand still," Draco snapped. "I have to alter the tracking spell."

Greg obediently held his place while Draco waved his wand and muttered the spell Weasley had given him. He should have tested the bloody thing before tonight, see if it worked. What the hell had he been thinking? "Nott's expecting us at six thirty, so we better get moving. The idiot apparently isn't connected to the Floo network – a 'security risk' he called it." Draco snorted. "As though a contingent of Aurors is going to come tumbling out of his bloody fireplace. Anyway, we'll have to take the Knight Bus." He didn't think he could manage side-along Apparition with someone of Greg's size.

"Okay," Greg said. "They might have hot chocolate."

"This isn't a bloody field trip." Draco gave him an irritated glare.

"Right. Sorry." Greg looked down at his faded pair of sneakers.

_Your fault. _"I'm just a little tense," Draco muttered.

Greg clapped him on the shoulder, causing Draco to stagger into the wall. "Ready?" Greg asked.

"Ready." Draco took a deep breath and led the way out the door.

The Knight Bus arrived in all its hideous purple glory. Draco gave them Nott's address, paid for the tickets, and added the extra Knut for hot chocolate. Greg sipped his contentedly as they hurtled through the city. Draco tried not to throw up.

Nott lived in a large house which looked like it had been cobbled together by an architect who had been _Obliviated _one time too many. Huge columns surrounded the front doorway. Gargoyles looked down at them from contorted positions on the roof. A half-finished turret jutted up from the western end of the roof. Draco thought of the elegance of the Manor – stained glass windows, elegant woodwork – all ruined now.

"This looks ridiculous. Ostentatious," he said past the lump in his throat. Greg nodded in agreement next to him. Draco lifted the doorknocker, embossed with the Nott family crest – two ravens in flight surrounded by thorns. He half expected a house-elf to answer the door, but it was Nott himself who opened it.

"Draco, I'm so glad you were able to come," Nott said smoothly, ushering them inside. "And who is this?" He looked at Greg, frowning.

Draco had purposefully left Greg's Glamour in place until just this moment. He waved his wand. Nott started back in surprise. "Goyle!"

"Correct," Draco said. "I brought him along for a little company. The Knight Bus can be so dull." _And that statement is the first lie of the evening. _

Nott's eyes narrowed. "The Ministry was keeping a tight watch over him, last I heard."

"They _were_," Draco replied, stressing the past tense. "But I found myself missing his stimulating conversation." He laughed in a sneering tone, and Nott joined in after a moment. _I'm sorry, Greg. _

"Well, I'm glad to see you, Goyle," Nott continued, leading them into a small study. He poured three glasses of wine and handed them around. "Not that you really needed to come. I assure you, Draco will come to no harm while he is with me."

_I'm sure. _Draco inclined his head and lifted his glass. "To old friends," he said. "Present company and those no longer with us." He sipped his wine. Cheap vintage.

Nott took a sip as well, while Greg drained the entire glass. Nott pushed the bottle Greg's way and leaned forward. "I must admit that I'm surprised to see you, though, Draco. When I didn't hear from you, I assumed you were not interested."

Draco took another sip. "My position is delicate. It took some time for me to set certain suspicions to rest."

Nott laughed and gave him a wink. "Not an entirely odious process, I'm sure. I always thought Potter looked like a delicious fuck. Perhaps you'll let me try him sometime."

Draco gripped the sides of his chair. _Say something! Play along! _part of him was yelling. _I can't! Not about Harry._

"I don't think that's any of your business," Greg growled, leaning forward. His chair creaked ominously.

Nott gave Greg's bulging muscles a nervous glance, shrugged. "Whatever. I'm not here to discuss your sex life, anyway."

"What are we here for then?" Draco asked, unclenching his hands. "Hopefully something more enticing than this disgusting swill." He gave the wine a disparaging glance.

"Oh, I think so." Nott smiled thinly. "You understand I can't give you all the details now. I need to receive some assurances of your commitment first."

"Of course." Draco set his glass down. "You cannot expect me, however, to blindly follow you without something more concrete than the vague allusions you have made so far."

Nott gave an elaborate sigh. "I really don't see how I can. Secrecy and discretion are of the highest importance."

"Try."

"What more information do you require?" Nott scowled. "I've made it clear that I, and others, such as yourself, are dissatisfied with the current direction the Ministry is taking. Purebloods are being cast aside in favor of half-breeds, Mudbloods, and vermin. I want to do something about it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Noble aspirations to be sure, but if that's all you have I think I'll be leaving." He stood up. "Come on, Goyle."

"Wait." Nott stood up, too, went over to a chest resting against the wall. He took out his wand and bent over it, muttering a spell too low for Draco to catch. The chest sprang open and Nott took out a bag. He dropped it on the table. "Does this persuade you?"

Draco reached out and opened the bag. Galleons glinted up at him. "Where did you get this?" He looked up at Nott. "Your family –"

"Was nothing compared to the Malfoys?" Nott sneered. "How well I know that. Not that the name Malfoy is much to brag about these days." Draco gritted his teeth, but kept silent. It was the truth, after all. Nott sat back down and continued, "I've spent my time since getting out of Hogwarts judiciously. It's amazing what you can get done when you're not locked up in Azkaban."

Draco fumbled for his chair. The mention of Azkaban never failed to make him feel shaky and ill. So Nott had somehow managed to collect a small fortune for himself. It could have been from sound investments or transporting illegal merchandise – and Nott wouldn't be any more forthcoming. But did it matter? Money was money. Draco's hand strayed again towards the bag of Galleons. "Who else is in on this with you?"

"Montague might be interested, and Flint has dropped by a few times, but Pansy sent me a rather vehement refusal. 'Stupid cow' – wasn't that what the Gryffindors always called her?" Nott laughed. "That there," he nodded at the Galleons, "will be coming to you every week. You'll be making the right choice, Draco, if you join me. His eyes flicked to Greg. "You, too, Goyle. Get back at them for what they did to Crabbe."

Draco hid a wince and avoided looking at Greg. "What about that girl you were seeing, Nancy or Nora wasn't it? Does she know about this?"

Nott's eyes narrowed. "Nora's dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Draco said, managing to sound surprised. "What happened?"

"Someone killed her. The Aurors are all over it of course, that idiot Weasley – but they haven't found anything. I don't expect them to, either."

"They aren't all incompetent," Draco said.

"It's not that – it's who killed her. It's got to be someone in the Ministry who found out what I'm doing. Whoever it is has the influence to make sure the Aurors never dig too deep." Nott scowled. "They think I'll stop – but I won't. I'm going to pay every one of the bastards back. What about you, Draco? Are you in?"

Draco held out his hand in answer, and Nott shook it.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Weasley was waiting for them at the Hanging Bat. "So, how did it go?" he asked, ushering Draco and Greg into a booth.

"I'm in," Draco replied. "He wants me to start putting out feelers at Gringotts, start talking to rich, pureblood clients. He's planning to build up a base of support, so that when he's ready to hit the Ministry, he'll have the money and people to do it."

"You mean he's actually planning a coup?"

Draco shrugged. "Looks like."

"But Nott? I mean, he was never exactly high on the radar of influence, power, or potential to cause trouble."

"I know, but he's ready to cause some now."

Ron groaned. "And with you and Goyle involved, I can't even tell Robards about this. Shit!"

"That about sums it up," Draco agreed gloomily. The Galleons were a heavy weight in the pocket of his robe. He motioned to the bartender to bring them all Firewhiskeys.

"And what about Nora and Ives?" Ron took a large gulp of his drink.

"I couldn't find a way to bring Ives into it, but he had a theory all ready to explain Nora. He said that someone from the Ministry had done it – to warn him away from this attempt at subversion."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I doubt that. Nott is a nonentity at the Ministry as far as I can tell."

"Well, either he really believes it or he's a good actor and lying." Draco swirled the Firewhiskey in his glass, watching it reflect the candlelight. "Hard to tell."

"Hard to tell? Well you better try harder then." Ron drained his glass and slammed it back down. "If I can pin Nott with one of these murders, we can arrest him and put a stop to all this nonsense."

"I don't take orders from you," Draco snarled. "You think I like pretending that I'm still the slimy bastard I was back at Hogwarts? That Harry means nothing to me? What's going to happen if he loses his magic?" Draco stopped, trying not to break into tears.

Ron fell silent. Greg put a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Ron finally said. "I really appreciate your doing this. And Harry – he's going to be fine."

Draco gave him a bitter glance. "You really believe that? We only have a vague idea about what Slytherin's going to do with this White Horse and no notion at all of how to stop him."

"Hermione is the smartest witch alive today, and Harry defeated Voldemort." Ron lifted his chin. "They'll figure this out."

"I suppose you can be complacent about it," Draco spat.

"Excuse me?" Ron's face reddened. "Harry's like a brother to me! And Hermione's putting herself in danger, too!"

"Oh, spare me the noble sentiment crap, Weasley." Draco sneered. "You've only tagged along with Harry and Granger so you can bask in their reflected glory."

Ron's punch missed his nose by mere millimeters. "You bastard!" Ron shouted and tried to climb over the table to get to him, sending glasses cascading to the floor with a crash. Draco leapt up to meet him.

Then a large bulk filled his vision, and a hand seized hold of his collar. "Calm down," Greg said.

"Let me go!" Draco gasped. Ron was gripped in Greg's other hand, his fingers futilely trying to pry Greg off.

"Calm down," Greg repeated, and proceeded to hold them at arm's length until their struggles began to subside. Finally, he let go. Draco plopped back in his chair, taking deep breaths.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, massaging his neck. Greg retrieved their glasses and poured everyone another drink.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

By the fifth glass, Draco had his legs propped up on the table and was humming tunelessly. Ron stared morosely at the table. "She doesn't love me anymore," he said.

"Who?" Draco asked, missing his glass twice before he managed to grab it.

Ron lifted bleary eyes. "Hermione."

"Nonsense. She's madly in love with you. Supremely, unquestionably in love with you."

"No," Ron shook his head. "I'm a horrible husband."

Draco shook his head and practically fell off his chair. "_I'm _a horrible husband."

Ron looked at him suspiciously. "You and Harry aren't married!"

Draco waved his hand. "A mere technicality. Anyway, I hated him for years. Tried to curse him with an Unforgivable once."

"I went out with Lavendar just to make Hermione mad," Ron said in a hopeful tone, then shook his head. "Not quite the same I guess."

"Nope." Draco sighed and leaned sideways until he was propped up against Greg. "And I lied to him about Nott for weeks."

Ron propped his face up on his elbow. "I keep pressuring Hermione into having kids. I keep getting mad at her for working so much."

"Horrible," Draco agreed. He frowned. "Kids?"

"Yeah." Ron sighed. "But Hermione doesn't want to for some reason."

Draco frowned in deep thought for a few moments. "Flowers," he announced at last.

"Flowers?"

"Give her flowers. Chocolates. That's what you're supposed to do to show you're sorry."

"Oh." Ron considered. "I guess so."

Draco leaned across the table to pat Ron on the arm. Greg hung onto the back of his shirt to keep him from pitching to the floor. "Go get some flowers."

"Okay." Ron stood up and began moving unsteadily towards the door. Draco watched him for a few seconds, then reached for the Firewhiskey bottle. Greg moved it out of his reach.

"Give me that," Draco said petulantly.

"No. You need to go home," Greg said.

"Harry's sick and all I can think about is the money Nott gave me," Draco said. "I deserve to get drunk."

Greg helped him to his feet. "You're already drunk."

The floor swayed beneath Draco, and he fought not to throw up. "Yeah, but it didn't help any."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry glanced at the clock for the fourth time in the past ten minutes. Surely if something had gone wrong, he would have heard by now?

He had been unsuccessfully trying to stop worrying about Draco all night. Even the _Quibbler _had failed to divert him. He either thought about Draco or…his magic. He kept casting _Lumos _to see if the light was getting dimmer. He reached for his wand again. No. He wasn't going to lose his magic! He would be fine. He wasn't going to let this get to him.

There was a sudden bang outside, and Harry leapt up, rushing to the door in time to see the Knight Bus careening off down the road. A large man was walking towards the house, half-carrying and half-dragging Draco with him. Harry hurried down to them.

"He drank a little too much," said the man, whom Harry now recognized as Goyle.

Harry went to Draco's other side and slipped an arm around his shoulders. It smelled like Draco had thrown up, which Harry could easily believe, having felt like doing the same when he was on the Knight Bus. "Harry?" Draco mumbled, then pushed something into Harry's hand. "These are for you."

Harry looked down in bewilderment at the limp bundle of weeds and one sad dandelion.

"He's sorry," Goyle explained.

"Oh, right," Harry replied, not understanding, but feeling it didn't matter. "Let's get him inside."

Draco fell asleep as soon as they got him to the bed. After covering Draco with a blanket, Harry held his hand out to Goyle. "Uh, hi. Thanks for making sure he got home okay." He felt he should comment on seeing Goyle again after so long, but saying _I'm glad to see you_, when he had never been glad to see Goyle before, seemed silly.

Goyle shook his hand solemnly.

"Did everything go okay with Nott?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yeah." Goyle grinned. "Nott ate it up. Said he didn't murder his girlfriend, though, but Draco thought he might have been lying."

"At least he didn't suspect anything." Harry cleared his throat. "I'd offer to Apparate you home, but I haven't been feeling too good lately, and I assume your place isn't connected to the Floo network. If you want to sleep on the couch, though, Draco can take you back in the morning."

"That'd be great."

"So, I guess Draco told you about us, then?" he asked while he got more blankets and pillows for the couch. He was a little doubtful that Goyle would even fit on the couch, and didn't want to try an _Engorgio _charm. If it didn't work…

"Not really," Goyle replied. "But I kind of figured it out from the way he sounded when he said your name." Harry hastily bent down to fluff up the pillows and hoped Goyle wouldn't notice he was blushing.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry slept in the next morning and woke to find Draco wafting a cup of coffee under his nose. "Two Slytherins and a Gryffindor under one roof," Draco said with a smirk. "What is the world coming to?"

"A pretty good one," Harry replied, taking a grateful sip.

"You slept okay?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. No dreams."

"Good. I'm going to take Goyle back before he eats everything edible in the kitchen."

"Okay." Harry watched Draco leave, then reached for his wand. "_Lumos._"

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione woke to the sound of Ron throwing up in the bathroom. She had stayed up until one last night, experimenting with various potions that might replenish Harry's magic. The last one had blown up in her face, leaving her drenched in a noxious slime. Too tired to do more than wipe off her face, she had collapsed into bed. Ron, apparently, had been having a much better time.

"Were you drinking?" she snapped as he came out of the bathroom, wiping his face off with a damp towel.

"I was debriefing Draco," Ron growled. "He had his first meeting with Nott last night."

"And what does drinking have to do with that?"

"It just does." Ron pulled a clean shirt over his head. "We almost got into a fight, and we just had a few to calm down."

"Oh very mature of you, Ron. Some of us, you know, actually put real effort into our work."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it," Hermione said, stuffing one arm angrily into the sleeve of her robe. "I work hard all day at the hospital – researching, testing potions, then I have to come home and do more research on Slytherin, plus try to figure out a way to cure Harry. All you do, Ronald, is sleep in and go out and get drunk!"

"I didn't know solving the world's problems was on your to-do list, Hermione." Ron's face was red. "Isn't that Harry's department?"

"Don't you bring him into this," Hermione spat back.

"Why not? Because that's what you want, isn't it Hermione? To be better than everybody else. That's why you graduated top of your class. That's why you work all the bloody time. That's why you want to be the one to stop Slytherin – because then you'll finally be better than Harry, too!"

"That is not true!" Hermione shouted, tears welling up in her eyes. "I want to help Harry! I want to help my patients! I just try to do my best, Ron."

"And your best sets a pretty high standard doesn't it? Am I not up to that standard, Hermione? Is that why you don't want to have kids, because they won't be the best possible?"

"You're an idiot, Ron!" Hermione stormed to the bathroom. "I don't – I _can't _– talk to you!" She slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, crying.

"Fine!" Ron shouted through the door. "It was better when you wouldn't talk to me anyway!"

Hermione heard him leave the bedroom. She reached into the pocket of her bathrobe. She had gotten a Valentine's card for Ron, hoping that maybe things would be better between them. Valentine's Day had been last week – Ron had forgotten – but she had hung on to the card, just in case. She ripped it up, tossed it into the waste bin.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"What do you mean, you won't be playing anymore this season?"

Harry stared at Oliver's shocked face, forced himself to speak. "I can't play."

"Harry, you don't have an option here! We _need _you! Our match against the Harpies is coming up – their defense is the strongest in the League! You can't just decide you don't want to play!"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Harry gripped metal edge of the bench standing next to him. "I _want _to play, Oliver! But I _can't_. Something's going wrong with my magic. I can't even get my broom up off the ground anymore," he finished in a low voice.

"But…" Oliver trailed off. "You'll be back, won't you Harry? You'll be back for next season?"

Harry looked up into the clear blue sky above the pitch. "Of course I will," he meant to say in a confident tone, but a hesitant "I hope so," slipped out instead."


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Harry made a face as Hermione unloaded bottles of potions onto the kitchen table. "Some of these taste really awful, you know," he said. Hermione gave him a look. "But I'll take them," he finished with a sigh.

"How have you been feeling?" Hermione ran her wand over his body.

"I can't play Quidditch, casting _Lumos _makes me dizzy – I'm just wonderful, thanks."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm working on how we can replenish your magic – really I am."

"I know." Harry sighed. "Slytherin hasn't been back in my dreams – yet. But I'm sure he'll return as soon as he needs a little power boost."

They both stared glumly at the bottles for a moment, then Hermione shook herself. "Still want to head out to Brentor today?"

"Yep. Will Side-Along Apparition work?"

Hermione nodded. Harry got his cloak, and they went outside until they were past the wards. He tried not to tense up when Hermione put her arm around him, but it was hard. Apparition was never exactly easy and when you weren't in control yourself –

They reappeared on top of a rocky hill, a cold wind blowing. "See? I got you here safely," Hermione said. "Now, I've already looked inside, but it probably wouldn't hurt to check one more time."

Harry stood around feeling useless while Hermione walked between the pews, casting spells. He stamped on the floor a few times, in case there was a hollow space underneath.

He thought briefly about starting to break pews apart, but decided against it. They looked fairly new, and the spell must have been hidden here centuries ago.

Half an hour later, Hermione stood up from a dusty corner. "This is pointless," she said, sounding very annoyed. "I'm going to look outside."

"Okay," Harry said. He was sitting down, staring at the stained glass window, finding the colors and light strangely hypnotic.

"Feel free to help," Hermione snapped and left, slamming the door behind her.

Harry remained staring at the window. He leaned closer. It almost looked as if –

"Hermione! Come inside and take a look at this!" he shouted out the door.

Hermione came dashing over. "What is it?"

He led her over to the window. "Look there," he pointed, "right around the hem of St. Michael's robe. Doesn't it look like words?"

Hermione peered closely. "I think it is! This must be it, Harry – the spell must be hidden here in the window!"

"It seems to start at this corner down here and loop through the picture," Harry murmured, following the miniscule words with his finger.

Hermione produced some parchment and a quill. "You read it out to me," she instructed, "while I write it down."

The spell was Latin, and Harry struggled with a few of the words, but finally they had it all copied down onto the parchment. "This is definitely the spell," Hermione said, rereading what she had written. "It's designed to open a certain hidden compartment or space in a specific location."

"The stone where the golden bridle is hidden."

"Right." Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes and gave Harry a triumphant grin. "We're almost there, Harry! Now all we need is to find out where this stone is."

"What did it say about it again? Something about the six stones where whoever made the Horse are buried?"

"Yes. Or at least that seems to be the implication." Hermione frowned. "Which suggests an ancient burial ground of some sort."

"You'd think it would be in the area around the White Horse. What do you say to going back to that bookshop? I bet the owner would know of any such places in the area."

Hermione agreed, and once again Harry gritted his teeth and let her Apparate with him.

"Back again?" Mr. Nyles said, looking up from some paperwork as they entered his store.

Harry nodded. "We've really gotten interested in these ancient sites and legends."

"We were wondering if you could suggest any other sites in the area," Hermione chimed in. "Particularly burial grounds."

Mr. Nyles shook his head. "Never rains but it pours as they say."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Here it is the off season and first you two come in asking about the White Horse. Then two days ago, another lad comes in asking about it, too, as well as old burial grounds in the area. And now you're back again."

"Someone else was asking about the White Horse?" Harry's heart speeded up. "What did he look like?"

"Oh, nothing special," Mr. Nyles said. "In his twenties, brownish hair. Anyway, I told him what I'll tell you. The closest burial ground is at Wayland Smithy."

"A smithy!" Hermione's eyes lit up.

Mr. Nyles nodded and picked up a brochure. "There's a map in here."

They thanked him for his help, purchased the brochure, and went outside to stand in a sunny, but secluded spot.

"It's too much of a coincidence that someone else came in asking about the White Horse," Harry said in a low voice. "Either Slytherin or someone who's working for him is after the bridle, too."

"It makes sense," Hermione admitted. "We don't know how much of this Slytherin had figured out before he died. He might have been in the same position we were when he returned."

"But now he's a step ahead again!" Harry slammed his fist into his palm. "If he knows about Wayland Smithy – he might already have the bridle."

"We don't know that he had the spell from Brentor," Hermione pointed out. "I agree, though, we should get over there as quickly as possible. But –" she paused.

"What?"

"Maybe we should get Ron or Draco to come with us, too," Hermione said hesitantly. "With you not feeling well – and now that we know Slytherin is on to this, too – it might be too dangerous not to have backup."

"I'm not useless!"

"I know that, Harry. But it's silly to take needless risks."

Harry scowled. "Fine."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco twirled a Galleon between his fingertips. "It would be a very lucrative opportunity," he said, glancing up.

Harold Klew frowned. "And all I have to do is my normal job?"

"For the moment." Draco paused. "When the time is right, you will be expected to help us out. Nothing too strenuous – connecting or removing certain fireplaces from the Floo Network, that sort of thing."

"Why?" Harold asked, frowning suspiciously.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. "Does it really matter why? You'll be getting the money won't you?"

Harold's gaze riveted on the coin in Draco's hand. Draco tossed it to him, and Harold caught it clumsily. "You'll get a flat fee up front. If you perform your part satisfactorily, we will reimburse you quite handsomely." He leaned back in his chair. "So, can we count on you?"

Harold nodded. "Yeah. I'll do it."

"Good." Draco stood up and opened the door. "And thank you for opening one of our new Value Vaults."

Harold left, stuffing the Galleon in his pocket. Draco went and sat back down at his desk. Hopefully that would satisfy Nott. Only that afternoon he had gotten another owl from the prat, asking if Draco had made any progress. Luckily, Harold Klew had walked in minutes later, a not too bright, not too rich employee of the Department of Transportation. It made him feel sick – how easy it had been for him to set about corrupting and ruining another person's life.

The Galleons Nott had given him were always on his mind. He was glad he had managed to get rid of one of them. The thought that he could make more of them was incredibly tempting. Really, was Nott's plan of instituting a few reforms all that bad?

Draco crushed that thought. Nott was most likely a murderer, and it wouldn't be long before he was asking Draco to become one, too. But it would be so nice to have that money, that power…

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco managed a smile when Harry arrived home that evening.

"How was work?" Harry asked him, drinking one of the medicinal potions with a look of distaste.

"Another day," Draco said.

"That bad, huh?" Harry sighed and sat down on the couch next to him. "Well, Hermione and I found the spell, but it looks like someone else got there first."

"Slytherin?"

"Probably someone working for him, since magic was used." Harry leaned back and closed his eyes. "We think the bridle is hidden at a place called Wayland Smithy, but we decided to wait until you or Ron could come along with us, since I can't, well…" he trailed off into silence.

"It's getting worse, then?" Draco asked quietly.

"No. Not yet." Harry's hand reached reflexively for his wand, but he stilled it. "I can still cast simple things – First and Second Year stuff – but I feel sick doing it. Anything more powerful, though and I'm sure I'd pass out like I did at the game."

"I'll come with you to find the bridle," Draco said. "And then we'll put an end to this whole thing."

"When I told Oliver I couldn't play anymore," Harry whispered, stopped. He swallowed a few times. "Magic saved me. It took me away from the Dursleys. It's my _life_."

Draco struggled to find words, something to say to make Harry feel better, but could find nothing.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"So this is what you've got, Draco? Some low level Ministry employee who's probably too stupid to do the job right anyway?"

"It's called subtlety," Draco snapped at Nott. "What did you want me to do? Visit Scrimgeour himself?"

"I expected something better than this!" Nott was pacing around the room. "We're on a schedule here, dammit! We don't have all the time in the world!"

"Really? Well, that's the first I've heard of it." Draco sneered. "I'd suggest working on your organizational skills before moving on to running the world."

"I'm under a lot of pressure here," Nott growled. "He has me running all over the countryside –" Nott stopped abruptly.

"He?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "And just who, may I ask, is this person? Another pertinent detail you forgot to mention?"

A panicked light was in Nott's eyes, but he strove for a cool tone. "None of your business. You don't need to know about him. You deal with me."

"I just might have to make it my business."

"You'll stay out of it if you know what's good for you," Nott hissed.

"Is that a threat?" Draco's hand was inching towards his wand, as was Nott's.

"Yes." Nott drew his wand in a heartbeat, but Draco was just as quick. They stared at each other, breathing hard.

Then Goyle stood up by Draco's side. "You can't take the two of us," Draco said softly.

Nott stared at them for a minute more, then lowered his wand. "If I told anyone…" he glanced at the door, licking his lips nervously. "He'd kill me!"

"Is that what happened to Nora and Ives?"

"I told you – the Ministry killed Nora. And Ives – I don't know what happened to him!"

"You're lying," Draco said.

Nott was practically shaking. "He'll kill me if I tell you!"

Draco looked at him for a few moments, then lowered his wand. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"I'm hungry," Greg announced. "Let's stop for a bite."

They had been walking back to Greg's place, giving Draco time to think. He had been pondering who Nott's superior was, running over any old friends of his father's who had escaped the Ministry's clutches. The list was short.

"There? Why do you want to eat there?" Greg was pointing at a Muggle restaurant.

"They have good food," Greg said. "All You Can Eat buffet on Saturday nights."

"That explains it," Draco muttered. "Fine, we'll eat there."

Draco ordered a salad, which he figured had to be safe. While Greg shoveled down his food, Draco's eyes wandered over the Muggles. There was a family of them sitting near them. The father was fat and balding. The mother was desperately trying to get the youngest boy to sit still. The older boy had some wires in his ears attached to a box and was staring off into space, humming.

_Harry could become like them. _The thought struck Draco like a hammer. The very notion of Harry losing his magic was so awful, that Draco had never given thought to what would happen if he did. He would be a Muggle.

_No. Harry would never be like those people. _But he would no longer be a wizard. All his life, Draco had scorned people who could not use magic. He no longer hated them, but he still looked down on them, pitied them. Could he still love Harry, if –

Draco squashed that thought. Nothing would change his love for Harry. Nothing. But still – He looked at the Muggles again. Harry wouldn't be able to do so many things. What if being with Draco made him jealous? What if Harry decided to leave him?

"Hey. Snap out of it," Greg said, waving his hand in front of Draco's face. "What are you thinking about?"

Draco swallowed. "Harry."

Greg's face softened. "He's sick, huh?"

"Yes." Draco tried to blink back the tears before they fell. "This is where – in a restaurant like this – "

"It'll be okay," Greg said. It was what he had always said back at Hogwarts, whenever Draco was angry or upset. And then Vince would say –

"I'll hit 'em for you if you want."

Greg glanced at Draco, then down at the table. "Yeah. Good old Vince. I miss him sometimes. All the time."

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "For everything."

"It was our choice."

"You didn't have a choice. None of us did."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

They were waiting for him when he stepped into his office the next day.

"Conway. Auror."

"Worley. Auror."

They showed him their identification. "Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," Conway said.

"May I ask why you're here?" Draco asked, striving to keep the terror out of his voice.

"We've been hearing some disturbing reports," Worley answered. "Seems like you've been visiting a Theodore Nott quite often lately.

Draco forced himself to keep his breathing slow and even. "I knew him at Hogwarts. We were just talking over old times."

"Really?" Conway came and stood right next to him. "Then I suggest you stop your visits to Mr. Nott. Mr. Nott is involved in some Dark business, if you take my meaning, and you wouldn't want to get caught up in it."

"No. Of course I wouldn't," Draco whispered. The smell of the sea seemed to be filling the room, and he could already sense the Dementors.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Mr. Malfoy," Worley said, and they walked out.

Draco sat there shaking for a few moments, then summoned an owl.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Calm down," Ron said. "They were just trying to scare you."

"Well it worked!" Draco was gripping the top of the table, his knuckles white. "No one else was supposed to know about this!"

"Look, I'm sorry. Nott is on our watch list, that's all. They don't have anything on you."

"How can you be sure? Anyway, I thought you were the only one who was suspicious about Nott."

Ron shrugged. "The Ministry keeps tabs on anyone with connections to Death Eaters."

"And that includes me." Draco gave him a furious glare. "If they find out what I'm doing for Nott, I'll be back in Azkaban before I can blink."

"Not if I explain that you're working with me," Ron argued. "Robards will be angry that I never told him about it, but he'll get over it."

"There's no guarantee that they'll believe you. The Ministry will jump at the chance to send me back to the Dementors." Draco's voice shook on that word. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to give them a reason to do it!"

"Look, you're getting upset for nothing," Ron said, overriding the outraged noise Draco made. "Conway and Worley were just being jerks. I'm sure they don't have any solid evidence."

"You better make sure about that," Draco hissed, leaning closer. "Greg's neck is on the line here, too."

"I will. Don't worry about it," Ron told him. He leaned back, massaging a shoulder. Robards had been breathing down his neck, and Ron kept having nightmares where Goyle was discovered dancing around the Atrium fountain when he should have been miles away in Muggle London.

"You look tense."

"You're giving me plenty of reasons to be," Ron growled back.

"Things still not going well between you and Granger, huh?"

"How do you – " Ron remembered the drunken evening a few weeks ago. "Oh. No, they aren't."

"I envy you," Draco said.

"Why?" Ron snorted. "You've been on the receiving end of Hermione's anger, too."

"Because you have all those memories from Hogwarts to look back on. Even if you are fighting, the both of you can remember all those years you spent together – as friends. Not all of us have that," Draco finished quietly.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Greg wasn't expecting him, so it took three rings on the doorbell before he answered. "What do you know about your neighbours?" Draco asked, peering suspiciously out the curtain.

"Um, Mrs. Bentley lives next door. She's old, so I help her carry her groceries up the stairs." Greg grinned. "She makes these great chocolate chip cookies, always brings some over for me. And then there's Miss Gregory across the way. She's studying to be an artist – said she'd bring me a painting to hang on my wall, but had to find colors to go with 'vomit yellow'." Greg peered at the walls. "I don't think they're so bad, do you?"

"Yes, actually." Draco looked at Greg. "So – are these people your friends, then?"

"Yeah," Greg smiled.

Draco gazed out the window again, then sat down on the couch after removing a molding piece of apple from the cushion. "There's a chance the Ministry knows what's going on. Two Aurors came to see me yesterday. They didn't mention you, but…"

"That's good then," Greg said.

"What I mean is," Draco took a deep breath, "if you don't want to help spy on Nott anymore, I understand."

Greg shook his head. "A couple of Aurors don't frighten me."

"But you have a life here." Draco paused. "And you seem happy. I won't be responsible for taking that away from you. Not again."

"I am happy," Greg said slowly. "At Hogwarts, I was just your stupid bodyguard. If I came back, I'd still be stupid. But here I don't have to be good at turning mice into teacups for people to like me."

"You'll lose that if the Ministry finds out that you're helping me."

"Maybe. But there's something else I can be now – a good friend."

Draco looked at him, looked away. "You are," he whispered, "a very good friend."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

"Conway!"

The red-haired Auror turned as Ron called out to him down the hall. "Hey, Weasley. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Still working on this murder case," Ron said with a sigh.

Conway shook his head in sympathy. "Tough luck to get landed with that. Although it's got to be more exciting than what Robards has stuck me and Worley with."

"Oh, what's that?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual.

Conway rolled his eyes. "Monitoring tracking and sensing spells. You can't imagine how boring it is, sitting in that room all day watching little dots move around. Worley falls asleep half the time."

"There have to be some perks."

"Well, occasionally you get to go out and give an official warning." He laughed. "We stopped by to see that snotty Malfoy brat the other day." Ron couldn't find it in himself to even pretend to laugh, remembering Malfoy's white, scared face. Conway gave him an odd look, then nodded. "Oh, yeah. You're friends with Harry Potter, aren't you?" Conway shook his head. "Whatever is he doing with a piece of trash like Malfoy? Bastard reeks of the Dark Arts."

"You have evidence on him then?" Ron held his breath.

"Nah. He'd just been over to Theodore Nott's place a few times. They were probably reminiscing about all the Muggles their fathers killed."

"Draco isn't like that anymore!" Ron said angrily.

"Whatever, Weasley," Conway said and walked on down the hall.

_Merlin! I just stood up for Malfoy. _Ron rubbed his eyes and opened them to find a memo flapping in front of his face. He grabbed it. Damn. Robards wanted to see him.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Three months, Weasley. Three months with no significant progress."

"As I said, sir, I have some new leads –"

"This thing about Nott and some obscure 'superior'?" Robards snorted. "You have absolutely no evidence to back that up. There's nothing to connect him to the crimes other than that he knew the two victims. Forget about him and try a new angle."

"But sir –"

"Dig through the records – see if there have been any similar cases. And go over the autopsy results again. We still don't know if these even _were _murders."

"Yes, sir," Ron muttered, and retreated to his office. He pulled out a piece of parchment.

_Harry –_

_Change of plans. I won't be able to come out to the Smithy with you and Hermione this afternoon – Robards wants to see some "progress" on the case. You should be fine with Draco there. _

_Ron_

He paused and looked back at what he had written. Now here he was, saying that Malfoy could watch Harry and Hermione's backs. And it was true, too, he realized. He trusted Draco. Shaking his head, he looked around for Pig, who was on his usual perch on top of the door, ready to swoop down on unsuspecting pedestrians in the hallway.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Ron had to work after all," Harry said to Hermione as she came in the door, "so it will just be us three."

"Oh, Ron had to _work _ did he?" Hermione said frostily.

"Yes," Harry said warily, hoping Hermione wouldn't take out her bad mood on him.

"Well, I suppose the three of us – "

"We'll be fine," Harry said shortly and ignored the looks Hermione and Draco gave him.

They had to drive, since none of them had ever been there before. Harry turned the radio on. He could tell that Hermione wanted to question him about how he was feeling, and he didn't want to talk about it. He was fine. They were going to find the bridle, and then Slytherin wouldn't be able to use the White Horse. He'd remain powerless and it would only be a matter of time before they hunted him down.

Hints of spring were beginning to come to the countryside. Bits of greenery were sprouting up along the side of the road and buds covered the trees. Draco had never been in a Muggle car before, and was fascinated by the power windows. He kept pressing the button for his window to open and close it, while Hermione shot him irritated looks as the wind mussed her hair.

"Wayland Smithy is a Bronze Age burial site," Hermione said loudly over the noise from the radio and the wind. "There are six stones encircling the burial mound, and I believe the bridle will be hidden in one of those."

"It fits with the verse," Harry agreed.

Another car was parked by Wayland Smithy when they arrived. The surrounding trees were still bare, but green grass covered the mounds. It had rained recently, and Harry's shoes sank into mud when he stepped out of the car. Two tourists were walking around the stones, taking pictures.

He followed Hermione and Draco up the path to the burial mound. It looked gloomy, even in the bright sunlight. The six stones were standing in front, just as Hermione had said. A shadowed tunnel led between them into the mound. The place was silent except for their footsteps and the occasional click of a camera.

They walked around the mound and went inside, staring through the dim light at the enclosing walls. The tourists still hadn't left when they came out, so they were forced to hang around nervously. The tourists had been giving them some odd looks. Probably thought they were here to take drugs or something. Harry cleared his throat and went to read the interpretive sign for the fourth time.

Finally, the tourists got back in their car and drove off. Hermione immediately rushed over to one of the standing stones and drew out her wand. She cast the spell.

"Nothing. Try the next one," Harry said, shifting nervously next to her.

Hermione moved to the adjacent stone and whispered the spell again. Still nothing. Draco had his wand out and was scanning the area. Harry's hands itched to hold his wand, but knew it was pointless. He had tried to cast _Impedimenta _last night and nothing had happened. Anger and shame rose within him. What was he even doing here?

Hermione approached the third stone and raised her wand. She began to utter the spell. Suddenly, Draco shouted and then he was crashing into Hermione, carrying her to the ground. A bright flash of light exploded outward from the stone and there was a great bang. Harry felt himself lifted off his feet and flung several feet backwards.

Breathless, he lay on the ground. Bright spots glared behind his closed eyes. "Draco? Hermione?" he managed.

Footsteps sounded. "We're fine, Harry," Hermione said. "Draco got up a shield charm just in time."

"You okay?" Draco asked him.

"Yeah." Harry sat up, massaging his back where it had hit a rock. "What happened?"

"A trap," Draco said grimly. "Set to go off whenever anyone cast a spell on that stone. I barely felt the resonance in time."

_And I didn't feel anything. I couldn't do anything except practically get myself killed. _"I guess we know which stone the bridle is in," Harry forced himself to say in a light tone.

"So it would seem," Hermione said, brushing dust from her skirt. She went up to the stone again.

"Careful," Harry warned.

"It should be okay now," she said. Still, her hand shook a little as she raised her wand again. Draco had his trained on the stone. Hermione cast the spell.

The front of the stone began dissolving. It melted back, revealing a chamber hollowed out within the rock, big enough for an object the size of a bridle. It was empty.

Harry felt like another blast had hit him. "It's gone."

They stood there silently for a few moments. "Slytherin got here first," Hermione finally said. "Now he has everything he needs to get his powers back."

Harry stared at the empty hole. "We'll be there," he said slowly. "On May fifth – the night the White Horse comes to life. We'll be there to stop him." _And what will you do Harry? Cheer them on?_

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione sat staring at the calendar. One month. They had one month before Slytherin would use the White Horse to go back to through the portal and retrieve his magic. Hermione laid her head down on her arms and tried not to cry. Slytherin had beaten them. After all their work to figure out about the White Horse, to find the spell, to find the bridle, he had gotten there first. And what could they do to stop him now? With Harry not able to do magic –

Hermione thought of when they had gone into the Department of Mysteries Fifth Year. She had been terrified, but she had trusted Harry. Harry had always been there to pull them out of trouble. And now he couldn't anymore.

There was no way to get his magic back, either. Hermione had thought and thought of a potion or a spell that might work, but could come up with nothing.

The door opened and Ron stepped into the room. His fingers were covered with ink and there were quite a few blobs on his robes as well.

"Working on a report?" Hermione asked, unable to stop from smiling fondly as she remembered Ron covered with ink after many a homework assignment.

Ron sighed and nodded. "The trouble is, I can't give Robards any proof. I can't put in anything that would incriminate Draco or Goyle."

"You'll figure it out." Hermione reached over to straighten his shirt collar. "The bridle was gone, Ron," she said in a low voice. "Slytherin got there before us. And Harry practically got himself killed!"

"Is he okay?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, sniffing back tears. "But I don't know what we'll do now. I'm sure Slytherin will use Beltane to open the portal again. There's no sense in waiting for Samhain now that he has everything he needs. And Harry – oh, Ron – he might not have been physically hurt, but the look in his eyes. We have to do something!"

"We will." Ron hugged her close. "We won't let Slytherin win."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry's eyes snapped open and stared at the dark ceiling. Draco was asleep beside him.

_Slytherin stood up, wiping his mouth against his sleeve. "This is our last meeting, Harry. The last time I have to touch your filthy half-blood mind." _

_Harry was curled up on the ground, shaking. "You seem to like my filthy half-blood magic well enough."_

"_I have only freed it from the prison it was in," Slytherin said. "Magic – such a sublime, elemental essence." He appeared to be gazing out into the distance, although his face was still covered by the hood. "I can feel my own calling to me, beckoning to me." He looked down at Harry again. "Magic doesn't belong in the bodies of anything less than pure blood wizards and witches."_

_Harry felt cold. "Is that what you're planning to do then? Take away magic from anyone that isn't a pureblood?"_

"_It would be fitting, wouldn't it? Punish them for the damage they have done to our world." Slytherin took a few steps closer. "I see you are entertaining a foolhardy notion of stopping me." He laughed._ "_Try your best, Harry. Try your best."_

"_We will stop you."_

_Slytherin shook his head. "Are you wishing that I had just killed you? I could have. But I decided leaving you alive was a more appropriate punishment for the one who killed my last living heir – even if he was a half-blood. Do try and enjoy the rest of your…existence."_

Harry reached out in the darkness for his wand. It fit smoothly in his hand, the wood warming to his touch.

"_Lumos_," he whispered.

Nothing happened.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco woke up to find Harry gone and Nott's owl tapping at the window. Muttering, he stumbled from bed and took the proffered parchment. Nott needed to see him – immediately.

Draco didn't bother trying to bring Greg along – he would be at work and it would be too suspicious to suddenly drag him away. Instead, he Apparated alone to Nott's house and rang the bell. Nott must have been waiting right inside the door because he opened it immediately. He looked like he hadn't slept in a few days.

"Come in," he said curtly. As soon as they were seated, he took out a bag of Galleons and tossed them to Draco. "I need you to do a job for me."

"What is it?" Draco asked slowly. Anything that made Nott bring out the money first thing couldn't be good.

"I'm expecting a shipment in two weeks. I need you to be there to pick it up."

"A shipment of what?"

"Manticore venom."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Where are you getting that from? Last I heard, it was a Class A illicit substance."

"It still is," Nott snapped, "and it's costing me a fortune. All because he doesn't think I can do it."

"Who doesn't think you can do what?"

Nott glared at him. "It's coming in two weeks from tonight. Down at the docks. The ship is called _The Mermaid._ It's already paid for, you just have to pick it up and bring it here. And make sure it really is manticore venom. I wouldn't put it past them to try to slip in a few vials filled with water."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Manticore venom?" Ron frowned. "What the devil does he want that for?"

"Nothing good," Draco said grimly. "Father used to use it to make a liquid version of _Imperious._"

"And you told him you would pick it up?"

Draco nodded. "I already told Greg to be ready to go."

"Good. I checked, and it doesn't look like the Ministry has anything on you. Still, I think this is getting too dangerous to keep going. Once you deliver the venom to Nott, I'll order a raid on his house. It might not be a murder charge, but harboring an illegal substance like that is quite enough to put him away in Azkaban."

Draco shifted, but nodded.

They sat silently for a few moments and then Ron asked quietly, "How's Harry?"

"Not so good. He went off somewhere this morning; I don't know where." Draco thought of how Harry had looked at Wayland Smithy. Shaken and defeated and sad.

Ron sighed. "Hermione's beating herself up over not being able to figure out a way to cure it. I keep telling her that Harry is going to get through this okay. You think he will, don't you?" Ron looked up at him and Draco read the anxious look in his eyes, pleading for reassurance.

"Yeah. Of course," Draco made himself say.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The sun shone off the gold, dazzling Draco's eyes until he looked away. He poured the latest bag that Nott had given him into the hole, quickly pushed the dirt back over it. Standing up, he looked around, making sure that no one was watching. The hill was deserted, only a few birds flying about among the tumbled stones and blackened wood.

Stepping over a twisted pile of iron, Draco walked over to where his room had once been. Two stories up, of course, but it was still the same view. Soon he would have enough. Enough galleons to begin rebuilding.

In his mind, the manor rose about him. Timbers straightening up, ash falling away to reveal polished wood, stones flying back into place, glass becoming mirror like once more. It would be bigger this time and ten times more beautiful. No gloomy corners or hidden trapdoors, but full of light and air. People would come from miles around just to look at it. He would even put in a room all done in Gryffindor colors, for Harry.

Frowning, he remembered what Ron had said – that he was going to arrest Nott after the illegal shipment came in. With Nott gone, Draco's source of funds would be gone as well. He would be more than happy to see Nott behind bars, but – well, Draco would just have to find a few more lucrative avenues to pursue.

Draco checked once more to make sure the Galleons were safely hidden, then Apparated home. Harry hadn't arrived yet, so he sat down on the front stairs. The evening was quite warm for April. He was watching the first stars come out when a bus stopped in front of the gate, and Harry got out. He walked up the drive and sat down next to Draco.

"Where have you been all day?" Draco asked. "I was worried."

Harry didn't answer for a few moments, then said, "I couldn't see it."

"Couldn't see what?"

"Hogwarts." Harry looked at him, and Draco could tell he had been crying. "I went up there today. There was nothing. Just a ruined old castle."

Draco's chest felt tight. He put his arms around Harry.

"It's gone," Harry whispered.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"I thought you should know," Draco said. Ron and Hermione's stricken faces stared down at him in the fireplace.

"He really couldn't see Hogwarts?" Ron whispered.

"No." Draco sighed. "He's asleep right now, but he was pretty…upset about it."

"He must know that it doesn't matter to us!" Hermione said. "That we all love him even without his magic."

"I hope he does," Draco replied. "I'm sure he does, but –" He shook his head. "I know what it's like to not be able to use magic, but at least I had hope. Harry doesn't even have that."

"Well he can't just give up or anything!" Ron said fiercely. "And he can't turn us away, either. We've gotten through everything together."

"And what if together is harder for him than apart?" Draco replied quietly.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Once, when he was eight years old, the Dursleys had taken him to London with them. Harry remembered standing on a street corner and looking at all the tall buildings and the hurrying traffic. It had seemed like an alien world, but one he had wanted desperately to inhabit. Anything had to be better than Privet Drive.

It still seemed like an alien world, but this time he wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, he no longer had a choice.

Harry walked slowly down the street. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He wasn't carrying his wand. He looked exactly like a Muggle. He was a Muggle. His eyes burned, and the street wavered in front of him before he managed to blink back the tears.

A man hurried past him, carrying a briefcase. At an auto repair shop across the way, a mechanic pumped air into a tire. _This is what I'll have to do. _He wouldn't be playing Quidditch or casting spells or riding Hippogriffs. It was like being put back in the cupboard again.

Why was he always the one who had to lose things? Draco, Ron, and Hermione – they all had their magic. A surge of jealousy flared up in him. He would have to watch them cast spells every day, burning with the knowledge that he had lost the ability forever. How could he stand that? It would make him as bitter and resentful as Filch.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione was balancing two bags of groceries in her arms when she saw Harry sitting on the steps. "Hi," he said, looking up at her briefly, then back at the ground.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said carefully. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed. "You're not 'fine,' Harry. Now come on up."

She got them both a hot drink and sat down across from Harry. She decided to opt for a brisk, professional tone. "Have you been feeling nauseous or dizzy, Harry?"

"No." Harry stared at the table.

"That means your system has adjusted to the new levels of magic," Hermione said.

"There is no magic!" Harry pushed back violently from the table and stood up. "Now go ahead and give me your little line about how no matter what you'll always stick with me."

"It's true," Hermione said quietly.

"And did you ever stop to think about how I feel?" Harry began pacing the length of the kitchen. "Do you think I wanted you to come along with me all those times in Hogwarts? You almost died, Hermione, and it would have been my fault! And now – all you'll do is try to make me feel better and treat me like I'm made of glass and never do magic in front of me! But when I'm not there you'll go back to casting spells and making potions, and I'll know you're doing it the whole time!"

"If you didn't want us with you, Harry," Hermione said, "why were you the one sitting on my doorstep?"

"Because – !" Harry stopped and sat back down. "Because you _are _my friend, Hermione, but I don't know what's going to happen now. We're not a trio anymore," he continued. "We used to be equals, Hermione, and now we're not."

"We are, Harry! We'll _always _be!" Hermione reached out for his hand, but Harry withdrew it.

"What am I supposed to do, Hermione?" he whispered.

"You just have to do your best, Harry. Try to carry on as best you can. I know it will be difficult –"

"Impossible. No matter which world I live in, I'll always remember what I've lost."

Hermione reached out for his hand again and held it gently. "Do you remember what I said to you, Harry? Before you went after the Philosopher's Stone?"

"That there were more important things than being good at spells," Harry answered slowly.

"Yes. Things like friendship and love. You haven't lost those, Harry. You never will."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The shipment was coming in the next night. Draco had been pacing nervously all afternoon, once more tormenting himself with all the things that could go wrong. Ron was going to pick up Greg and then Draco would meet them a half mile from the docks.

He looked over at Harry, who was sitting on the couch, half asleep. Harry had hardly slept at all these past few days, alternating between angry, resigned, and depressed.

Draco sat down next to him, and Harry's eyes opened. "Sorry," Draco murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"That's okay." Harry sighed and leaned into Draco's arms. They sat in a companionable silence, watching the sunbeams shift slowly across the floor.

"You know how I promised?" Harry said after awhile. "That I would never leave?"

Draco nodded.

"I still mean that. I thought maybe you were worried, now that I can't," Harry paused, then finished quickly, "do magic. That maybe I might leave. But I won't. I wanted you to be sure of that – just in case."

Draco held him close. "The same goes for me," he said softly.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

It was cold and it was wet and Draco felt exactly like he had before every Quidditch match with Gryffindor. The sinking feeling of inevitability that he was going to end up in pain or humiliated. Now he could add "or dead" to the list. He pulled up the collar of his cloak and sidled a little closer to Greg, who blocked the wind somewhat.

The docks were pitch black, with only a few distant streetlights casting a dim glow over the place. Draco's eyes strained through the darkness to try and find _The Mermaid_. "See it yet?" he murmured.

Greg shook his head. Ron was somewhere behind them, skulking out of sight, just in case there was trouble. Draco would have preferred to have him in front – him and about five well-armed goblins. He felt horribly exposed and every splash and drip of water practically gave him a heart attack. The smart thing would be to turn around and tell Ron to have a large squad of Aurors go pick up the manticore venom. But then Nott would get away.

"There it is," Greg said suddenly, and Draco's heart began pounding. Sure enough – there was _The Mermaid_ tied up to the dock and bobbing gently. Draco drew his wand.

"Watch my back," he murmured to Greg. "Weasley probably fell asleep back there."

There were no lights on the ship, and Draco could see no one. "Hello?" he called out cautiously as they drew near.

A figure stepped out from behind a pile of crates and came forward into the light. It was Nott.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, raising his wand a little.

"I'm here to pick up the manticore venom," Nott said, nodding toward the box he was carrying under one arm.

"Then why the hell did you send us here, too?" Draco growled.

"Because it's the perfect place." Nott grinned. "The perfect place for the Aurors to pick you up."

"What?" Draco's heart froze somewhere between his chest and his mouth.

"I doubt they'll believe you're just out for the night air. Not with another ex-Deatheater who isn't supposed to have any contact with the wizarding world. Not next to a ship know to carry illegal cargo. Not with the tip I owled in a few minutes ago."

"This is ridiculous," Draco managed to sneer over his pounding heart. "I'm on your side in this, Nott, you idiot. You'll lose a valuable ally if you turn me in."

" 'Valuable ally'? Wouldn't 'spy' be a more appropriate term?" Nott stepped a few feet closer, and Draco saw that his hand was also clutching his wand. "You're working for Weasley, Draco. I've known since the beginning. What did he promise you? Money? Or did darling Potter make you do it?"

Draco stood there for a few moments, his mouth dry. "How?" he finally managed to say. "How did you know?"

"It was your precious Harry," Nott replied with a malicious smile. He glanced at his watch. "And now, Draco, I'm afraid I must leave you. Perhaps they'll let you and Goyle share a cell."

"_Impedimenta!" _Draco shouted, but too late. Nott had Disapparated. "Shit!" Draco swore, and that was all he had time for before four pops heralded the arrival of the Aurors.

"Get down!" Draco yelled at Greg and dived for a pile of scrap metal, shooting a _Stupefy _over his shoulder. He hit the ground and scrambled to get behind the pile. A jet of red light hit the metal with a sizzling sound.

He cowered down to the ground for a few moments as spells whizzed over his head and hit the metal in front of him. He risked a quick look over the top. Two Aurors were facing him, another two were approaching the open door of a rotting warehouse, where Greg must have run. "_Expelliarmus!" _an Auror shouted, and Draco's wand soared out of his hand.

He ducked down again. "You are unarmed and defenseless!" the Auror shouted. "Come out with your hands raised!"

"Where the fuck are you, Weasley?" Draco shouted.

There was a second of silence and then one of the Aurors shouted and there was a horrible crash. Draco chanced another peek.

The pile of crates that Nott had been behind had fallen on top of the two Aurors. One was unconscious, but the other must have gotten up a partial shielding spell because he was crawling to his feet. Draco was casting around for a suitable missile when Greg stepped over the crates and gave the Auror a resounding thump on the head. The Auror slumped to the ground beside his partner.

"Thanks," Draco said, scrambling to his feet. "Where did the other two go?"

"Don't know," Greg said, stooping to pick up Draco's wand and handing it to him.

"We better find them before they find us." Draco headed for the decrepit warehouse, Greg close behind.

Crouching down, Draco cautiously approached the door and chanced a quick look inside. It was pitch black – he couldn't see a thing. Using _Lumos _seemed like a bad idea, so instead he motioned for Greg to follow and stepped carefully inside.

"Watch out for – " Greg began.

Swearing, Draco rubbed his head where he had bumped into an overhanging beam.

"I did that, too," Greg said.

Still rubbing his head, Draco moved forward, then dropped to the ground again when there was a sudden burst of light and shouting from an adjacent room. He looked up to see Ron stepping through the door.

"Those two won't be giving us any problems," Ron said, twirling his wand. "Did you hit your head? It looks a little red."

"And where have you been?" Draco snapped. "Getting your beauty sleep?"

"Looks like you two managed fine without me," Ron said. Draco gave him a glare.

They went back outside to the other two Aurors. "Sorry about this," Ron said and cast _Obliviate _on both of them.

"You think that's going to fix it?" Draco said incredulously. "They must have filed a report! Told someone where they were going!" His voice rose in panic. "There's probably another squad of them waiting for me in Godric's Hollow!"

"Calm down," Ron said. "First of all, I doubt that Nott gave them your name specifically. It would be much more believable to just make it sound like he had heard about this illegal shipment coming in that was going to be picked up at such and such a time."

"A wonderful theory." Draco gave him another glare. "But I don't want to trust my life on your brains."

Ron glared back. "_Second_ of all, I'm going to go straight to the Ministry and ask for a warrant to raid Nott's house. I'll make it out that Nott called in the tip just to throw the scent off him."

"And you think Nott is going to be there?" Draco asked in a biting tone.

"If he isn't we might be able to tell where he went to," Ron shot back. "Now would you get moving?"

"I'm not going near any place that might have Aurors."

"Fine. You two go to the apartment. Hermione will look after you."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry had been staring at the fireplace for hours, with occasional checks on the door. He felt trapped and useless. He had wanted to go with Draco. Had wanted to go along with Ron on back-up. But what could he have done without his magic?

So he felt bitter and worried and angry instead. The hours dragged slowly by, and Harry knew that something had gone wrong. Draco might be dead or injured somewhere, and he couldn't do anything. If Draco was dead –

Then, as he stared at the cold ashes in the fireplace, he remembered what Professor Dumbledore had once told him. _"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." _

He couldn't do magic. He could choose to let that limit him or choose to go ahead anyway.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione started as a loud pounding on the door rang through the apartment. "Someone must have got through the wards! Go to one of the back rooms," she hissed at Draco and Goyle. She waited until they had disappeared, then approached the door.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"It's me, Hermione."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, jerking the door open. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Draco," Harry replied.

"How did you get here?"

"Took a cab."

"But – the wards," Hermione stuttered. "Ron put them up before he left for the Ministry!"

"And did you every bother to check if they repelled non-magical persons?" Harry asked, with a slightly ironic grin.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Draco's in the back," she finally said and shouted down the hall, "It's okay, you two! You can come out!"

Goyle appeared first, and then Draco. He saw Harry and launched himself down the hallway.

"Never again," Draco murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry. "I am never going anywhere that is not well-lighted and dry."

Harry laughed and ruffled Draco's hair. "I take it things didn't go as planned?" he added in a more serious tone.

"No." Draco scowled. "Nott knew what we were up to from the beginning. He set a trap – Aurors almost got us."

"How did he know?"

Draco looked at him, then over at Goyle. "He – didn't say." Goyle nodded.

They gathered in the living room – Harry and Draco on the sofa, hands clasped tightly, and Hermione and Goyle in chairs. Hermione was happy to see that Harry was acting more like his old self. Hopefully he had realized that they would never abandon him, no matter what.

Finally they heard the doorknob turning, and Ron stepped into the room. He looked tired.

"Nott was gone," he said. "Looked like he had left in a hurry, too. Oh, hi, Harry. Everything – okay?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Did you find any clue as to where Nott might have gone to?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "There was some Muggle money in a drawer. It's a good bet he's holed up somewhere in London at a Muggle hotel. It'll take weeks to search. Our contacts with the Muggle police are so tenuous." He sighed and sat down on the arm of Hermione's chair. "Now we have two Dark wizards on the loose."

"Well, with five of us, we should be able to make a good try at finding them," she said, squeezing his hand.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Clearing his throat nervously, Ron shifted from one foot to the other.

"Who did you say you were?" The police woman behind the desk asked, her eyes narrowed.

Hermione had already left that morning, so Ron had been forced to fend for himself when dressing as a Muggle detective. He was getting the feeling that polka dot ties and bowler hats were far off the mark. "I'm Detective Chudley," Ron said again. "Here to see Captain Taggert." He leaned his elbow on the desk in an attempt to look casually at ease, then jumped back as he accidentally pressed a silver globe which rang like a bell.

The police woman put her hand on a large black stick tucked in her belt. "Captain Taggert is not available this morning."

"Do you know when he'll be in?"

"No."

"Oh, well." Ron pulled out a sketch of Nott and handed it over. "We're looking for this man – wanted for, er, drug dealing."

"I can ask the Captain to give it out to the patrol officers," she began, then stopped, staring at the picture.

To his horror, Ron saw that the Nott in the picture was winking at the police woman. He had never thought to tell the artist not to do it with wizard paints! Lunging forward, he ripped it from her hands. "Thanks for the help! Much obliged!" he shouted behind him, racing for the door.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"I'm looking for a friend. Thought he might have checked in here."

The balding owner of the motel looked at Harry. "What's his name?"

"Nott. Theodore Nott."

"Nobody here by that name." The man peered at him. "What do you want him for?"

"Um, well, he – he's not really my friend," Harry stammered. "More like my mother's sister's cousin. Which would make him my mother's cousin, too, actually. And she, um, wants to…to see him."

"Your aunt?"

"No, my mother."

"Uh huh." The man scratched his chin. "Nope. I haven't seen him."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Mr. Malfoy! I didn't expect –"

"You should always expect the unexpected, Mr. Borgin," Draco said softly, pushing back the hood of his cloak, motioning for Greg to do the same.

"It is a…pleasure, Mr. Malfoy."

"I don't expect that it is a pleasure for either of us. Show me any new items that you have," Draco commanded, sitting back in his chair.

Borgin bustled about, returning with a scattering of items on a tray. "Is this it?" Draco poked through the offerings with his wand, lifting up a rusty bracelet. "Business hasn't been so good lately, I presume."

"If I may point out, Mr. Malfoy, that this cup here comes directly from China and is imbued with a curse –"

"I'm not interested in your trash, Borgin. What about any new customers? Seen any unfamiliar faces lately?"

"With respect, Mr. Malfoy, may I remind you that any deals are strictly confidential – " Draco laid several Galleons on the table. "But I can tell you that I have not seen anyone unusual or unfamiliar to me." The Galleons vanished into Borgin's pocket. "Ever since, well, you know what," Borgin continued in a bitter tone, "I can't turn around without finding some damned Ministry representative peering over my shoulder."

"Well," Draco fished out a few more Galleons, "you'll let me know if that changes, won't you?"

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Do you know any spells," Hermione asked carefully, "for locating a specific person?"

"Certainly." Geoffrey frowned. "I would imagine that you know them as well – a bit elementary, really."

"Of course I know all those," Hermione replied, miffed. "But they all require something like hair or blood from the person. That isn't available in this case."

Geoffrey considered, shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I can't think of anything."

Hermione sighed and slumped further in her chair.

"I can recommend a few books," Geoffrey continued.

"No, no. I'm sure I've read them all," Hermione concluded gloomily. "How is your research going, by the way?" she added, trying to smile. "You still haven't told me what exactly it is you're doing."

"As a matter of fact, I'm almost done," Geoffrey said. "I'll probably be leaving in a few days for the university to present my work."

"How exciting! So, what is it about?"

Geoffrey shook his head, smiling. "Not yet, Hermione. I want to dazzle you with my achievements – not have you poke holes in all my theories."

"I wouldn't do that!" Hermione protested, laughing. "Can't you let slip a few details?"

"Not yet," Geoffrey repeated, and then he leaned closer. "I bet you could learn and master any spell – even a really difficult one – extremely quickly."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, I usually could perform most spells on the first try when I was at Hogwarts." Then, not wanting to sound too vain she added, "Except those in Defense against the Dark Arts."

Geoffrey shrugged. "That wouldn't matter," he said, almost to himself.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Any luck?" Hermione asked without real hope, looking at the dejected faces surrounding her.

"No," Ron sighed, loosening the tie he was wearing.

Harry and Goyle both shook their heads.

"And I'm not going back to Knockturn Alley, either," Draco snapped, looking in no good mood. "All it takes is for one Auror to see me there and that's it."

"We're all taking risks, Draco," Hermione said, feeling irritated. "If Robards finds out all that Ron has been doing behind his back, he'll be in big trouble."

"Look," Harry said, forestalling Draco's angry response, "we only have three days left until Slytherin opens the portal again. We're running out of time!"

"You know," Ron said, "I can't help wondering about how he's going to open the portal. He can't do it himself."

"He must have found another wizard to help him," Harry said.

"It will have to be a powerful one." Hermione shook her head. "The portal spell in his book is extremely complicated and requires a great output of magical energy."

"Could any of us do it?" Ron asked. "Maybe we could open it before he got there and be waiting for him."

"Of the five of us, only Harry or I could do it," Hermione replied. "Harry...can't and I wouldn't dare to try. There's no telling what would be on the other side of it. We might get trapped there ourselves or never even encounter Slytherin."

"Ron, you have other Aurors out looking for Nott, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Ron nodded. "They aren't having any more luck than us, though."

"Well, since Beltane is so close, I think we should all concentrate on trying to find Slytherin. Nott will just have to wait until…afterwards."

They all agreed, and Harry, Draco, and Goyle left shortly afterwards, leaving Ron and Hermione sitting on the couch together.

"Once this whole mess gets straightened out," Hermione began slowly, "we need to sit down and talk together. And I mean really talk – no yelling involved."

"You're right," Ron said, and reached out to take her hand.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"I don't want you to come, Greg."

Harry and Draco had brought Goyle back to his apartment. Harry was sitting on the couch, but could hear what Draco was saying to Goyle in the kitchen.

"But Draco –"

"No." Draco cut him off. "You can't do magic, Greg. We're going to be facing at least one opponent who can. All you could do would be to run around ducking spells."

"Harry is going."

Small pause from Draco. "I'll talk to Harry later. Please, Greg – promise you won't come? I already have Vince on my conscience, I don't need you there as well."

"Okay." Greg sighed. "I promise."

Draco came out of the kitchen and motioned for Harry to walk out with him. Draco Apparated both of them back to Godric's Hollow, although to a meadow in back of the house.

"Is this where you're going to 'talk' to me?" Harry asked.

The only illumination came from starlight. Draco's face looked pale and indistinct. "It's true, Harry. You shouldn't come."

"I have to come. I'm not going to let you, Ron, and Hermione face this alone."

"I knew you'd say that." Draco turned away and looked up at the stars. "It's your choice, Harry," he whispered. "I can't – _won't _– make you do anything."

"Thank you," Harry replied softly. He wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Tomorrow night," Ron said gloomily. "And Merlin knows what Slytherin will have with him – probably a few trolls." He, Draco, and Harry were sitting at a table in the Hanging Bat, resting after another day of fruitless searching.

"Maybe the White Horse won't come to him," Harry said. "Maybe the bridle isn't enough."

Silence. "But it probably will be," Harry concluded with a sigh.

"I'd better be heading home," Ron said at last. "Hermione will want to know how the day went." Hermione had joined them that morning, but was working at St. Mungo's for the afternoon.

"Tell her to brush up on her hexes," Draco said as Ron stood up.

"Hermione doesn't need to brush up on anything," Ron said in a tone of defensive pride. "We'll see you both tomorrow night."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

When they got home, Draco went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Harry could tell Draco wanted to try again to talk him out of coming tomorrow, despite what he had said the other night, but Harry avoided looking at him. Instead, he occupied himself with reading the latest Quidditch scores. The Cannons were still in the running, but falling farther behind. He hadn't been able to stop himself from listening to the last game and knew exactly the spot where he could have caught the Snitch had he been there.

"She's gone!" Harry whirled around to see Ron's head sticking up in the fireplace. "Harry, Hermione's gone!"

Harry bent over him. "Slow down there, Ron. What do you mean, she's gone?"

"Someone's taken her, Harry! There's no sign of her, no note, nothing. And I found this." He held up a small box. There was a needle sticking from the bottom. "There are traces of sleeping potion on it."

Harry's insides became steadily colder at Ron's words. "We'll be right there."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. She was lying on a bed in a dark room. Her hands and legs were tied with ropes. There was a nasty smell in the air – like burned rubber. It was hot, too, sweat was dripping down her forehead.

Slowly, the memory of how she had gotten there returned. She had gone home after work and had been waiting anxiously for Ron to come home. Then there had been a knock on the door. She had gone to answer it, thinking Ron had forgotten his key and was too lazy to do an _Alohomora_, but Geoffrey had been standing there.

"_Geoffrey, what a surprise! Come in," she said, opening the door._

'_Hello, Hermione," he said, walking inside. _

"_What's the occasion?"_

"_My research is finished so I'm heading off tomorrow. I wanted to see you one last time before I left." He smiled. "And give you this." Geoffrey handed her a small wrapped package._

"_You didn't have to give me a present," Hermione said, blushing._

"_I wanted to. Go on, open it."_

_Hermione drew back the paper to reveal a small box, inlaid with mother of pearl. On the bottom was a stamped crest depicting two ravens in flight, surrounded by thorns. "It's lovely! It looks like a family heirloom."_

"_Probably is – I found it in an antique shop. Why don't you open it?"_

_As she opened the lid something sharp stung her palm. "Ouch! What was…" Then darkness descended._

"Awake, are we?" A lamp clicked on, and Hermione blinked at the sudden brilliance.

Her mouth was dry. Geoffrey was standing in the doorway. It looked like she was in some cheap motel room – she could see the number on the door. "What do you want," she whispered.

"You were the one so anxious to find out what I was researching." He sat down on the bed next to her, and Hermione tried to squirm away. "Now I'm ready to tell you."

"If that's all, then why am I tied up?" Hermione demanded, managing to sound angry instead of frightened.

"Because I also need your help, and once I tell you what I want you to do, I doubt you'll be very cooperative."

The door opened again and a man stepped into the room. He looked familiar, but Hermione couldn't place him.

"You see, your dear old schoolmate here isn't quite up to the challenge," Geoffrey said, and the man scowled.

"Schoolmate? I don't –"

"Don't recognize your dear friend Theodore Nott? That's not very nice of you, Hermione."

So this was Nott's superior then. All those days in the library, meeting for coffee, and she had never guessed. "Ron knows you're up to something," Hermione said to Nott, managing to inject a note of defiance in her voice. She glared at Geoffrey. "He'll figure out that you're the ones who have taken me."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Geoffrey said, smirking. "That foolish husband of yours can't do anything without his great friend, Potter. And Potter isn't much help anymore, is he?"

"How do you know about Harry?" Hermione whispered, dread welling up inside her. Geoffrey just stared at her. "It doesn't matter," she went on in a louder voice. "It doesn't matter if they don't find me because I'll never help you with whatever horrible thing you're planning."

Geoffrey laughed. "Oh, I'm afraid you won't have a choice about that, Hermione." He stood up again and went over to a table in the corner. Hermione craned her neck and managed to see that there was a boiling cauldron sitting there, resting on Hermione's old specialty – bright blue fire in a jar. "Theodore may be relatively weak as a wizard, but he has managed to brew quite a fine potion out of the manticore venom. I'm sure you know all about what that does."

Hermione's heart sank. A liquid version of the _Imperious _curse. She wouldn't be able to resist. "What are you going to make me do?"

"Open a portal," Geoffrey said. "It's a complicated spell, but one that I think you've studied quite a bit. And anyway, you're a very talented witch, Hermione. You'll have no problem, I'm sure."

She knew, then, but couldn't say it.

Geoffrey smiled at her. "You see, Hermione, I'm afraid I've lied to you about a few things. It's time we were properly introduced." He held out his hand, a mocking smile on his face. "Salazar Slytherin."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Ron was sitting slumped in a chair when they arrived, head buried in his hands. Harry knelt in front of him. "We'll find her," he said quietly.

Ron looked at him. "What if she's already –"

"Don't," Harry said sharply. "Don't. Show me this box."

"It's there on the table."

Harry picked it up carefully. "Looks like the needle is triggered when the box is opened." He took a look around the apartment. "Here," he bent down, picking up some scraps of bright tissue. "Wrapping paper. Hermione must have known whoever gave it to her – trusted them."

"Let me see that," Draco said. He took the box from Harry and turned it upside down.

"What?"

"Nott. This box belonged to him. That's his family crest on the bottom."

"Of course!" Ron was on his feet. "He knows I'm after him, so he took Hermione."

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. "I don't know, Ron," Harry said slowly. "It will be a lot harder for him to hide with a prisoner. You said it yourself – it's almost impossible to find him in Muggle London – why would he jeopardize that advantage?"

"I don't know!" Ron threw up his hands. "Maybe because he's a murdering lunatic?"

"I'm just trying to reason this out, Ron," Harry began, when Draco interrupted him.

"Wait. Why else would someone want Hermione?"

Ron went red in the face, but Harry saw what Draco meant. "Because she's brilliant."

"Exactly. And who do we know who's going to need a complex and powerful spell performed?"

Harry shivered. "Slytherin."

"Slytherin?" Ron shook his head. "But the box proves that Nott did it."

Draco turned towards him. "And what if they're working together?"

"Working together? But –"

"It makes sense," Draco said. "Slytherin reappears around the end of October. A few weeks later, I get a letter from Nott. Plenty of time for Slytherin to look around and find someone who would be interested in supporting his cause. And the Ives murder –"

"Slytherin did it in his dream," Harry finished, feeling sick. "Drained his magic and then killed him. That's why there weren't any marks of any kind."

Ron nodded slowly. "The same thing must have happened with Nott's girlfriend, Nora. Nott handed both of them over to Slytherin. Performed a spell that would give Slytherin access to them. He didn't need to with Harry because there was already a connection through the scar."

"And that's how Nott knew I was spying on him," Draco added. "He told me he knew because of something you had done, Harry. At first I thought he was just saying it to make me angry."

"But Slytherin could see it in my dreams." Harry's voice was resigned. "He knew everything that was going on because he was in my head." He slammed his fist on the table. "We probably led him right to Brentor and Wayland Smithy."

"Makes more sense than Nott figuring it out," Draco agreed bitterly.

"And now they've got Hermione." Ron's face was pale. "The manticore venom – they'll force her to do whatever they want!"

"We'll stop them," Harry said. "This time we'll stop them."

Ron looked at him, a hopeful light in his face, a light that said he knew Harry had all the answers. "How?"

Harry reached out for his magic and felt a now familiar emptiness. "I don't know," he said slowly, and Ron's face fell.

Then Draco put his hand on his shoulder. "We fight," he said simply. "We'll be there, and we'll fight."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The sun was going down slowly, a ball of red in a haze of cloud. Harry's feet were getting cold from standing in the wet grass. He looked over his shoulder at the dim outline of the White Horse, pale on the slopes of the hill.

"We'll tackle Nott and Slytherin," Ron said for the fourth time. "And you get Hermione, Harry."

"Right." He looked over at Draco, who was standing a little distance apart. The wind had reddened his cheeks and tangled his hair. Harry watched as Draco whispered a spell to amplify his hearing. Draco felt his gaze and turned to smile at him. Harry smiled back.

The minutes dragged by. Harry was about to suggest that someone conjure up a few chairs when Draco jerked his head up. "I hear a car coming," he said.

They were standing at the base of Dragon Hill near a few large stones – the only cover in the area. They crouched behind them, peering out at the road.

"It's a Muggle taxi," Ron said as the vehicle drew nearer.

"Heading for the village probably," Harry began to say, but fell silent when the taxi stopped on the road, directly in front of them. A figure got out of the back seat, and the taxi drove off.

"Too big for Nott," Ron whispered.

"I think it's Greg," Draco said, sounding surprised.

"Goyle? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Draco replied and started off across the field towards him.

"Wait!" Harry tried to grab his arm, but Draco slipped by. "Go after that idiot, won't you, Ron?"

A few tense moments passed as Ron and Draco drew near the figure. Harry kept expecting a flash of green light, but nothing happened and soon all three were coming back. It was Goyle.

"What happened to your promise?" Draco was demanding angrily.

Greg shrugged. "Slytherin."

"You should go home," Draco told him.

"I'm staying." Goyle couldn't use magic either, Harry remembered.

"What about our promise?" Harry whispered to Draco, who had subsided, muttering.

"Oh, well, I'm a reformed Slytherin," Draco murmured, and Harry could feel his smile.

"Bring any extra socks?" Ron asked.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione. As the hours passed slowly and there was no sign of Nott or Slytherin, she was all Ron could think about. What if they were wrong and someone else had kidnapped her? What if Slytherin decided he didn't need her and just killed her? Ron gritted his teeth and stared up at the top of the hill.

Slytherin would know they would be there, waiting. They had no plan. Ron's greatest fear was that they would threaten to kill Hermione. What would he do then? If they forced Hermione to open the portal – could he stop her – would he be willing to hurt her to stop Slytherin?

At last a dim light appeared on the top of the hill. Ron glanced at Harry, Draco, and Goyle. "Let's go," he whispered.

He and Draco went first, climbing quickly, then slowing to a crouched crawl as they neared the top of the hill. Ron motioned for the other three to stay back, and crept forward until he could peer over the top.

He saw Hermione. She was facing his direction, but standing very still, her wand held limply in her hand. Nott was behind her, his wand pointed at her back. A few torches were stuck in the ground, giving a flickering illumination. A man was kneeling before Hermione, assembling a golden bridle. With a jolt, Ron recognized him as Geoffrey, the man Hermione had met in the library. What in the world was he doing there? And where was Slytherin? Unless – a trail of goose bumps ran down Ron's spine. Geoffrey must really be Slytherin. That whole time and neither of them had suspected anything. Ron wished he had punched the bastard when he had the chance.

Ducking back down, Ron whispered, "Nott's covering Hermione. Slytherin is getting the bridle ready."

"Have they given her the potion?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded. "I'm going to crawl around the hill, get behind Nott. Harry, you come with me. Draco, I want you and Goyle to cover Slytherin. But watch out for Hermione, she's standing right in the middle." He took a deep breath. "We'll start counting down from one-hundred. When we reach zero, that will be the signal to attack. Understand?"

The other three nodded. Harry touched Draco on the shoulder briefly, started off into the darkness. "Ninety-nine," Ron said, and followed.

He kept count silently in his head after that. At forty, they reached the place which Ron judged to be behind Nott. He stopped Harry, and they crouched down, waiting. "Five, four, three, two, one, zero," Ron whispered. He and Harry glanced at each other, then Ron leaped up and ran over the top of the hill, Harry right behind him.

"_Stupefy_!" Ron shouted. The jet of red light shot from his wand towards Nott, hit an invisible barrier, and bounced back. He heard Harry drop to the ground, swearing, as the spell nearly hit him. He could see Draco firing spells across the way – those were bouncing back, too.

Nott turned around. "Oh, hello, Weasley. Potter. And you too, Draco and Goyle," he added, raising his voice. "I can't say I'm glad to see you, but I'm not surprised."

Ron took a step forward. "Let her go!"

Nott pressed his wand into Hermione's neck. "Stop right there, Weasley. Or your Mudblood wife won't like it very much."

"You won't hurt her," Ron said. "You need her to open the portal."

Geoffrey – Slytherin – stood up, the bridle dangling from his hand. "Very true," he said. "But under the _Imperio _potion she will perform the spell. Even if half the skin is burned off her back."

Ron halted, grinding his teeth.

"That was quite the nasty hex you sent my way," Slytherin added, glancing over at Draco. "Luckily, Hermione set up this lovely shield. It's quite strong, isn't it? Not that I expected any less of her." Slytherin looked up at the sky. "And now I think we'd better set the spell in motion. Hermione, if you will?"

Nott leaned forward and whispered something in Hermione's ear. She raised her wand, pointing it at the circle of stones. Ron started forward again, but Nott looked back at him, dug his wand deeper into Hermione's skin.

Hermione began chanting. The air above the stones shimmered, then swirled madly like the surface of a soap bubble. Ron could see one of the torches through the shimmering air and it looked twisted and bent, the flame a strange green color.

"Very good, Hermione," Slytherin said. He stared at the portal with a hungry look on his face for a few moments, then snapped his attention back towards the direction of White Horse Hill. Unwillingly, Ron felt his own gaze drawn from Hermione and to the direction Slytherin was looking. Harry stood tense and still beside him. Draco and Goyle were two dark shadows across the way.

It was pitch black at first, but then the moon broke from behind the clouds, and a dim radiance shone over the landscape. Ron held his breath and watched as in the distance the White Horse rose from the ground.

It was huge, shining like snow, and seemed to flicker in the wind as it reared up into the sky. Its bones were sharply defined and the legs and nose seemed elongated. Slytherin raised his arms to the sky and shouted. In one hand, he held the shining mass of gold.

The Horse heard and turned towards them. It pawed the air and broke into a gallop. Ron was sure it would crush them all, but as it approached it seemed to dwindle and assume a more solid shape until it was only a little taller than an ordinary horse when it came to a stop in front of Slytherin.

Slytherin approached it slowly, holding the bridle out before him. The Horse snorted and tossed its head, but allowed him to come near. Holding his breath, Ron inched a few steps nearer to Nott. Hermione still held her wand rigidly in her hand, concentrating on holding the portal open.

Ron took two more steps – Slytherin placed the bridle reverently over the Horse's head – and then Nott turned around and looked at him. Nott hissed something, and Hermione shuddered. Ron froze.

Slytherin swung himself up onto the Horse's back. He looked down at them, the light of triumph in his face. "When I return, I will show you wonders the like of which you cannot imagine," he said and kicked the Horse forward, heading for the portal.

Draco suddenly started forward and Nott shouted at him to stop. A green burst flashed across the hill from Nott's wand, and Draco cried out, dropping to the ground. Quickly, Ron moved as well, but Nott spun around, and Ron and Harry dove apart to avoid the spell he shot at them. Slytherin and the Horse were slowly disappearing into the portal.

Ron looked over at Harry from where he was laying on the ground. Harry was flat on his stomach, staring up at Nott, who was looking back and forth from them to Draco and Goyle. Slowly, Harry's hand groped for a rock. He looked over at Ron. Ron nodded.

Gathering his breath, Ron flung himself upwards and to the right. A spell sizzled through the air where he had been, but then there was a thud, and looking up, Ron saw Nott crumple to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Come on!" Harry shouted and sprinted up the hill. Ron struggled to his feet and followed. As soon as he was past the barrier he sent a _Petrificus _towards Nott, who went rigid. Harry paused for a second by Hermione, but then he was past her, and running towards the portal. The Horse was almost gone and the portal looked smaller and more wavy. Hermione's wand hand was shaking madly.

Torn between Harry and Hermione, Ron shouted, "Wait!" but Harry kept going. The Horse had disappeared and the portal was closing now. Harry leapt and disappeared into the shimmering air.

"No!" It was Draco, clutching his side and struggling forward, Goyle supporting him. "Harry, no!" He stumbled forward a few steps, but the portal disappeared before he reached it.

Ron's wand was in his hand, but there was no spell he could cast. No spell he knew that would bring Harry back or let Ron follow. He was gone.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

He was here, wherever here was, and didn't have a damn clue about what he was going to do now. Harry shivered and tried to see through the thick fog which he had encountered upon entering the portal. There was no sign of Slytherin or the Horse.

_If I had my wand_… But he didn't. So there was no point in thinking about it. Instead, he stumbled forward, hands groping in front of him for obstacles.

How much time passed, Harry couldn't tell, but suddenly his hand encountered something warm, and he jumped back, heart pounding. The fog swirled and the warm body slowly resolved into the White Horse. It stared at him and shook its mane. Hesitantly, Harry reached forward again and touched it. The Horse just blinked at him, so Harry walked along, running his hand along the Horse. It was reassuring to touch something solid, even if it _was _some prehistoric apparition.

Harry reached the Horse's head and took one step forward. The fog and the White Horse disappeared as if the had never been, and he found himself standing in a room. The walls were made of stone, and it was sparsely furnished – a desk, covered with parchment, a narrow bed in the corner. There were no windows. Slytherin stood in the middle of the room, his eyes closed and his arms upraised.

Before he could decide what to do – whether he should try to attack Slytherin or look around for a potential weapon – Slytherin suddenly cried out. Harry started back – a strange smoky substance was pouring off Slytherin. The smoke slowly resolved itself into three figures. Each was vaguely human shaped, and the smoky essence whirled and twisted, caught in breaths of air that Harry could not feel. The figures faded in and out, flickering madly. Each one seemed to have golden specks inside it – like dust motes caught in a sun beam. Harry felt a strange attraction to one of the figures, like recognizing an old friend.

Two of the figures drifted swiftly to the door of the room, a heavy, oak edifice, and Harry saw that a fourth shadow was already there, clamoring to get outside. The other one, the one that Harry could almost give a name to, hesitated behind them, blowing this way and that in the invisible breeze.

"Come here." Harry whirled around at the sound of Slytherin's voice, but he was not speaking to Harry. He was beckoning to the shadowy figures, his jaw tight with concentration. "Come to me."

One of the shadows – the one who had already been at the door – began to drift to Slytherin. Suddenly it began to waver madly, as though a strong wind were ripping through it. It turned and fought its way back to the door.

"No!" Slytherin's eyes snapped open, and he saw Harry. "You – what are you doing here?" he spat.

_Stopping you_ seemed a foolish thing to say when all Harry had done so far was stand around staring. So he said nothing.

"You're trying to get it back, aren't you?" Slytherin narrowed his eyes. "Even if you do – I won't let you back when I re-open the portal."

Harry frowned for a second, and then he realised what the figures were and why he knew one of them so well. "That's Ives and Nora, isn't it?" He pointed to the two figures trying desperately to unlock the door. "And the other one is you and the fourth one is…"

Slytherin nodded. "Remarkable, isn't it? To see an essential part of you take form?" He stepped towards his own shadow, his own magic. "And now the agony of being parted will be ended."

But his magic resisted. It eluded his grasp and fled into a far corner. Slytherin growled in frustration. "Come to me! You cannot resist!"

"It – _you _– know that it's wrong!" Harry broke in. "Your magic knows that it is time for you to die. You shouldn't be afraid."

Slytherin turned to him with a look of fury. "I am not afraid." Before Harry could move, Slytherin had backhanded him across the face. Harry reeled into the wall. "Stupid boy," Slytherin hissed. "I dare to challenge the very laws of the universe and you call it fear!"

"Some things," Harry gasped, "some things shouldn't be challenged."

Slytherin sneered. "Then go. Open that door and see what lies beyond."

Harry looked at the heavy wood, the metal doorknob, and felt a great thrill of terror. He didn't know what lay beyond that door. It might destroy him utterly. He might not _exist _on the other side. What if he, Harry James Potter, ended?

Harry cowered against the wall, and Slytherin laughed mockingly. Then he turned back to his magic and began to coax and cajole it to rejoin him. His magic remained distant, but seemed to be weakening, the airs which stirred it blowing with less fury.

Harry's mouth was dry, and his heart pounded. He knew what he should do. What he had to do. He had to open that door. He had to open that door so that Slytherin's magic could escape, so that Ives and Nora's magic could rejoin them. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. Would his own magic rejoin him even if he opened the door, or would it flee as well? What if he had no choice but to go through the door once he opened it?

Then, a touch reached him through the fear. A hand intertwined with his own. A familiar smell, a familiar voice. Draco. Harry knew it was only a memory, but it was enough.

At first, it turned his fear to sorrow. Sorrow at the thought that he might never see Draco again or hold him close. Sorrow at the thought that he could lose the life they should have lived together.

But then as memories flooded through him – Draco reading the morning paper with a furrowed brow, Draco laughing as he chased the Snitch, Draco's face as he leaned close for a kiss – sorrow turned to an irrefutable knowledge. No matter what he became, not matter what happened after he opened that door, he would know Draco when they met again. Like his magic, which, although it was in a strange and unfamiliar form, was still a part of him, so it would be with Draco.

He opened his eyes and looked up. Slytherin was leaning close to his magic now, whispering to it and slowly reaching out a hand. He must move now or it would be too late.

Harry stood up straight and crossed over to the door, Slytherin too engrossed to pay him any attention. The shadow of his own magic came towards him, but Harry couldn't look at it now, he had to open the door before his resolve failed. The magic of Nora and Ives fluttered around him as he stopped in front of the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Get away from there, Potter!"

Slytherin had seen him, was advancing on him. Harry turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The shadows of Nora and Ives rushed past him. "No!" Slytherin cried and Harry saw Slytherin's magic dart past him, eluding the clutching hands and fly through the door. Slytherin's face twisted into a grimace of fury and fear.

"You've destroyed it!" he screamed. "Everything I worked for! Everything I was!"

"It's not gone," Harry replied. "You can still follow."

"You fool!" Slytherin drew himself up, towering over Harry. "Don't you know what you've done?" The room they were standing in wavered, and Harry found himself standing in a familiar place – the front hall of Hogwarts. It was empty and silent. The doorway here was open, too.

"Look around you," Slytherin said. "This is the future that you have now chosen for our kind."

"This is Hogwarts – I don't –"

"There is no Hogwarts. Hogwarts is empty!" Slytherin shouted, his voice echoing. "Our blood will continue to be diluted by Muggles and half-breeds until we cease to exist. No more wizards, no more magic."

"You can't know that," Harry said.

"I have foreseen it!" Slytherin thundered.

"You're wrong. The strongest wizards and witches have been Muggleborns, half-bloods. There's no reason why that should change."

"Before I died," Slytherin said, his voice now low and insistent. "I saw Hogwarts ruined. The school that I had helped to build infiltrated by filth! By then I was old, it was too late for me try and halt the damage. So I made up my mind that I would come back – I would come back from death to save the wizarding world."

"It doesn't need saving," Harry said. "Yes it's changed. It's not the world that you knew. And it might not be any better than that one. But it isn't any worse, either."

"You're wrong!" Slytherin advanced a few steps, pushing Harry back until his left foot was resting on the open threshold. "Without the dilution of our blood we could have been the rulers of this earth! We could have done the impossible!"

"When we can live side by side with Muggles," Harry replied, "_then _we will have done the impossible. And your ambitions bring us no closer to that day."

Slytherin's face darkened, and his hands grasped Harry's throat. Harry grabbed Slytherin by the wrists, trying to pry his hands apart, but he was strong. "If I cannot have my dream," Slytherin hissed, "you shall not have yours, either."

Dark spots began to encroach on Harry's vision. His attempts to loosen Slytherin's grip were becoming weaker. Perhaps, if he stepped over the doorway, Slytherin would fall with him. Mustering the last of his resolve, Harry prepared to take the last step.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his magic flitting towards him. Then it was next to him, embracing him, and finally rushing back into him. He felt a surge of power, and Slytherin was flung away from him. Slytherin crashed into the opposite side of the doorway, teetered there for a moment, and then fell out the doorway with a cry.

Sinking to his knees, Harry took deep, gasping breaths. He could feel his magic coursing through him. Looking out of the door, he felt a sense of wonder steal over him and the last of his fear finally melted away.

It was hard to close the door now. Almost as hard as it was to open it. But he did and for the same reason.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco's side burned like fire where Nott's curse had struck him, but it was a distant pain. Greg had torn up some of his cloak and was now clumsily tying it around the wound. Draco didn't try to help or hinder him. All he could do was sit hunched over in the wet grass and stare at the spot where Harry had disappeared.

Ron was bending over Hermione. She had fainted as soon as the portal closed. Frantic, Draco had shaken her, trying to awaken her so she could open the portal again. Ron had cast him aside furiously, which almost earned him a black eye from Greg. Finally Ron made Draco see reason – Hermione would be too weak to perform the spell even if she did wake up and none of them could do it.

The minutes passed, becoming half an hour, then an hour, with no sign of Harry.

"How's your side?" It was Ron, stooping over him, back from making sure Nott was restrained so that they could take him to the Ministry.

"It hurts," Draco said.

"Look – Harry – he's going to be okay."

Draco looked up at Ron. "I think I used up all my miracles."

Ron surveyed him silently for a few moments, then went back to Hermione, wrapping his cloak around her. Draco shut his eyes and felt the first tears welling up.

"Draco. Draco." Greg pulling at his shoulder.

"What?" he snapped, unwilling to face the first few moments of a life without Harry.

"Look."

Reluctantly, Draco raised his head and looked up into the sky where Greg was pointing.

It was the Horse, galloping over the hills to the east where the night looked worn out and hinted at the coming dawn. There was a small figure on its back. Slytherin. Draco's heart fell and the last bit of hope faded.

"It's him," Ron breathed next to him, and Draco turned, expecting to see an expression of fear, but instead Ron's face was lighted up, and he was smiling. Draco looked back at the Horse. As it came closer, Draco saw that the person riding it was actually draped over its back. Perhaps…

The Horse drew nearer and nearer and then came to a halt in front of them. It whinnied and pawed the ground. Draco approached and saw that yes, it was – "Harry!" he cried out and ran forward.

He and Ron eased Harry off the Horse's back and onto the ground. Draco pressed two trembling fingers to his throat.

"Is he – ?" Ron asked.

"Alive," Draco replied. He lifted Harry, pressing his face to his chest and burying his face in Harry's tangled hair. "He's alive."

Ron whooped with joy, Greg cheered, and Harry's voice whispered in his ear, "I promised I'd never leave you."

"I know," Draco couldn't stop a few tears from falling, and Harry kissed them off his cheeks. "But I – " Harry's lips against his own stopped him.

"You're hurt," Ron said, and Draco noticed the bruise beginning to darken Harry's cheek.

"It's nothing," Harry replied. "What about you?" He put his fingers on the bandages wound around Draco's side.

"I'll live. I'm sure Hermione will fix it in a moment once she wakes up."

Harry turned to look for Hermione. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine," Ron assured him. "That spell just took a lot out of her is all. The manticore venom should have worn off once she wakes up."

"But what about Slytherin?" Draco interjected.

A strange light came into Harry's eyes for a moment, but then it faded, leaving him looking confused. "He's dead," Harry said slowly. "But I don't remember how it happened. I remember following him through the portal and a lot of fog and…" he trailed off. "Nothing until I woke up here. But I'm sure he's gone."

"Probably knocked your head," Ron said. "As though you weren't weird enough to begin with," he added with a smile.

"Probably," Harry murmured, although he still sounded like he was trying to remember. He looked up at the Horse. "You must have brought me back."

The Horse tossed its head a few times, whirled around, and galloped back through the darkness towards its own Hill. As it went, its form grew more and more insubstantial until it vanished, like smoke. Just as it disappeared, the last torch went out, plunging them into darkness. Ron muttered and groped for his wand, but Harry spoke first, "_Lumos._"

"Harry, what did you just – " Draco broke off, staring at the light hovering over Harry's hand.

"Magic," Harry whispered, a smile breaking over his face. "It's back."

"But how?" Ron asked, holding his fingers close to the light.

"I – don't remember." Harry shook his head. "Let me see your wand, Draco, please."

Draco held it out, and Harry got to his feet, taking a deep breath. "_Expecto Patronum_!" The white stag burst forth, galloping once around the hill.

Harry looked down at them, grinning. Draco's throat was too tight to say anything, so he just got to his feet and gave Harry a tight hug.

"What's happening? Ron?" It was Hermione, rising dizzily to her feet. Ron hurried over to her, putting his arm around her waist. "Oh, Ron," Hermione leaned against him. "I'm sorry – I tried to fight it, but I couldn't help it, I –"

"It's okay, Hermione," Ron said, kissing her. "You're safe – we're all safe."

"Slytherin is gone – destroyed?"

"Yes," Harry said, grinning. "And look –" He cast the Patronus spell again, and Hermione gasped.

"Oh, Harry! It's back – your magic!" She threw her arms around him. "Oh, this is wonderful!" Harry began laughing, and Hermione, Ron, and Greg joined in.

Draco stood a little to the side, watching them, and it came to him that these were the people who mattered to him now. A know-it-all Muggleborn, a Weasley, Greg, whom he had once scorned and ridiculed, and, of course, Saint Potter. His friends. His family. He began laughing, too, and allowed Harry to pull him into a hug.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The light from the setting sun made even the burned timbers of the Manor look peaceful and pretty. Draco stood up, wiping ash and dirt from his hands, and gazed out over the forest. The new manor he had wanted to build no longer rose up in his imagination.

"All this gold – what are you going to do with it?" Harry asked softly from behind him.

"I'm not sure," Draco replied. "Donate it to St. Mungo's or maybe," he hesitated, "maybe use it to start a campaign to get rid of Azkaban and the Dementors."

Harry's breath was warm against his cheek. "I think that's a great idea. As long as you're sure…"

"I'm sure," Draco replied. Two nights ago, they had invited Hermione, Ron, and Greg over for dinner. They had all been crammed in the kitchen, but as Draco looked around the small room, he realised that he didn't need – didn't want – anything more than this. The very next morning he had gone into work and told the first client who insulted him to please keep a civil tongue in their mouth or they would need to find another banking establishment.

Harry squeezed his hand and then knelt on the ground. He touched his fingers to the dirt and whispered a spell. Wildflowers sprang up around the black wood and iron – pink, blue, purple, yellow.

"Showoff," Draco said with a smile.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Ron stood on the grassy lawn, staring up at the house with a smile on his face. It was just what he had dreamed of – round windows peeking from behind corners, narrow chimneys jutting out at unexpected angles, grass sticking up through the stoop.

Hermione emerged from the doorway, dusting off her hands. "I finished off two boggarts hiding in the closets," she announced.

"Still turning into McGonagall these days?"

Hermione smiled, but then her face became serious. "No, actually." She took a deep breath. "I want to say, Ron, that I'm sorry. For what I said."

"Me, too." Ron scuffed his shoes in the dirt.

Hermione came and slipped her arm through his. "It's not that I didn't want to, really, but I'm…scared. I don't have any experience with children."

"Hey, it's okay." Ron cuddled her closer. "I've never been a dad, either. And anyway, I know they have books all about it."

Hermione laughed. "That's true."

"I mean, we shouldn't rush into it or anything. I guess I just wanted to know that it might be part of our lives at some point."

"But not seven?"

"No." Ron chuckled. "I'm not as crazy as my parents."

"Then…yes. If you're there to help me."

"Always," Ron said, kissing her.

Sitting down with Hermione under a shady tree by their new home, Ron decided that this future, although not what he had expected, wasn't all that shabby either.

**Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! Many thanks also to my beta, Carnilia, for all her help. **


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